


Athfiezar

by BasementTea



Series: The Last of the Dragons [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aunt/Nephew Incest, Brother/Sister Incest, Canon Divergence, Casually rewriting more than half the series don't mind me, F/M, Fingering, Half-Sibling Incest, I promise no major characters will die, I really hope you aren't expecting this to remain non-problematic, Incest, Incest Kink, Incest Mention, Jaime Targaryen, Jaime is a bastard, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, My first ever long as fuck fic, Oral Sex, PTSD, PTSD flashbacks, Poly Relationships, Sibling Kink, Slow ass burn, Tagging to give you guys an idea what to expect, This is technically three way incest, Trans Male Character, Trans!Jon Snow, Trans!Tywin Lannister, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Vaginal Sex, abuse mention, but I believe that TywinXTyrion might be becoming a thing, death mention, fucking a, gore mention, hoo boy, i'm not sure, if it does I'll update the tags to reflect it, no literally, rape mention, there's a fork in the plot and that fork is season 4, there's some fight scenes, this is almost completely done but i'll be releasing it a chapter at a time, this is definitely going to be long as fuck my dudes, this shit comes in way later, torture mention, underage non-con mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-03 22:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 40
Words: 61,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12757230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasementTea/pseuds/BasementTea
Summary: Athfiezar: [dp] ni. love (between siblings or friends)////Daenerys blinked, before moving to stand before her throne, tilting her chin up, looking down at him from her perch. “Ser Jaime Lannister. Imagine my surprise, hearing who was waiting to see me.”He swallowed hard, giving a short nod.“Imagine my surprise, being here.” Jaime said, attempting at a joke.The silence recaptured the room, before Daenerys finally seemed to break free of the surprised fog she was in, though she didn’t take her seat. “I was under the impression that I was the last of the Targaryens. Aren’t you supposed to have golden hair?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tagged the Jon/Dany tag ahead of time, as it is canonically an incest pairing. He comes into the fic later, but I don't like to spring ships like that on people. The main pairings are tagged, as are things that could be triggering or upsetting. Thank you for reading! <3

“There’s a door at the top of the stairs. Knock on it twice, then twice again. Varys will open.” Jaime shoved the torch into the mount on the wall, striding back to where Tyrion stood, watching him.

His brother looked so serious- he’d been looking far too serious for far too long. Jaime ached for the past, when he’d never seen an expression like that on Tyrion’s face before.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then?” Tyrion asked, turning to look at him as Jaime passed.

Swallowing hard, the knight closed his eyes a moment, before spinning quickly, pulling the man into his arms, squeezing him tight.

Turning his face to him, he kissed Tyrion’s temple, his hand tight in his curls.

It felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest.

When they pulled back, Jaime had to force himself to stand again, or he would have wasted their time away, resting their foreheads together, so reluctant to part. “Farewell, little brother.” he said softly, his voice shaking with the emotion behind it.

Tyrion nodded mutely, pulling back.

“Jaime.”

That made him turn, looking back to him.

“Thank you- for my life.”

Jaime’s jaw clenched, blinking rapidly to fight the tears in his eyes, before nodding some. “Quickly now-” he said, motioning to the stairs, before retreating.

Things hadn’t been the same, they were never going to be the same, and he had to accept that.

He needed to let Tyrion go, to return to his rooms and feign surprise when the bells started to toll, marking his brother’s escape.

It felt like ages it took- slipping through the servants tunnels, finding a place to come back up, sneaking back to his rooms.

Standing there, at the door, his hand on the old oak but not moving, Jaime felt his heart hammering in his throat. What was he doing?

Everyone would know it was him. He knew that.

Taking a deep breath, he felt the way it shook in his chest, how close to a sob it was. His lashes were wet, fighting not to cry.

Of everyone in his life, the only person he’d ever been able to trust fully, to count on- Tyrion had always been there for him. Always kind, always loving. There were no stipulations, no conditions for his affection.

Cersei, even Father- they had made his new position abundantly clear.

With just one hand, he had nothing to offer the others in his family. He was a liability. The best he could do was resign, move out of the way and do his duty. Play the perfect son.

And he had seen what justice his Father and sister offered for those that didn’t do as they were told, during Tyrion’s trial.

Rushing forward, Jaime grabbed his travel pack, shoving clothing into it without pausing to look at what he was honestly grabbing. Joffrey’s sword was at his hip in moments, striding past the armor of the King’s Guard without a second glance, slinging the pack on his shoulder.

The door of his chambers slamming behind him felt right, and he didn’t stop to relish it, rushing down the halls, half sprinting. He needed to get to the docks.

Varys met him on the deck of the ship with a touch of surprise, his brows raising as the spymaster sat down on the crate housing Jaime’s brother. He didn’t say anything, simply tilted his head a bit and motioned to the spot beside him silently.

Tyrion was in a literal box, hidden away from sight. At least that spared him from anyone second guessing him just yet. He already knew he was in for a verbal lashing from the man, but by the time Tyrion realized what was happening, they would be far enough away that there was no point in arguing it.

Jaime had his sword on his hip, his false hand, the clothes in his pack and what little he had left in his purse after paying his passage so last minute. Nothing else.

This was fucking stupid.

The boat rocked back and forth, and he took a deep breath, sitting beside Varys, keeping quiet. Both Varys and he knew the racket that Tyrion would make if he heard Jaime’s voice just yet. They needed to be plenty away from the shore, before they could risk such a thing.

They had waited until the sun started to show over the horizon before either of them dared speak. Of course it was the eunuch that spoke first, turning to face the knight, the crate creaking underneath him.

“So, Ser Jaime, whatever possessed you to join us?” he asked with a thin smile.

Jaime felt a jolt from inside the crate, sighing some, lifting his hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. He pinched hard, hoping to relieve the building headache that was making his eyes ache.

“A moment of insanity?” he offered as means of explanation.

Another jolt from Tyrion’s box, before a slight scuffling, and Tyrion’s voice came through, a soft hiss, almost lost under the sound of the waves against the hull.

“Insanity? Jaime, are you crazier than a Targaryen? What the hell are you doing?”

Jaime rolled his eyes, looking to Varys as if he was answering him. “Apparently so. Now I get to live with the consequences, I suppose.”

Varys hummed. “I would say you came to your senses.”

Jaime snorted. “Oh? Just as you did?”

Varys gave him that knowing smile of his, hands hidden inside his sleeves, giving the slightest of shrugs. “I’ve never been parted from my senses.”


	2. Chapter 2

Was he greying?

Jaime turned his head, pulling at his hair some, trying to study the roots of it more closely. He didn’t understand exactly what was happening. He was pretty sure that people didn’t go grey all at once. It was a much more gradual thing, a hair at a time. If you were unlucky, perhaps a streak in a matter of weeks.

No, this was different. It was as if his hair was suddenly a different color. Like counting the rings on a tree.

What was different?

He sat down on the bed inside his cabin, frowning at the hammered metal across from him, a warped version of himself staring back.

Shampoo.

That was the only thought that came to his mind, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair again, studying it as closely as he could. Was the golden color more… ashen now as well? Dull.   
When was the last time he had washed his hair?

When was the last time he had washed his hair with anything but that soap his father insisted upon?

It was imported from Lys, he knew that much. It had always smelled earthy, strong- he remembered that sometimes the smell of it was so strong that he sneezed upon opening the bottle.

It had sometimes discolored his fingertips.

That realization settled through him like ice waters in his veins. Roose Bolton had had a bottle of it in his camp when they captured him and Brianne. Had said his Father had sent it along for him.

It was dye.

Why the hell would Tywin Lannister be dyeing Jaime’s hair for his entire life?

He swallowed hard, before standing up again, moving forward, pulling his hair back from his face, truly studying the color of his roots.

Silver.

His hair was fucking silver.

Not grey, not like age would have turned it. It was a bright silver, as if his hair had been gilded. A warm, bright, pure silver-blonde. The tiniest sliver of it, hiding near his scalp, barely a quarter inch long.

Jaime swallowed hard, his hand dropping away from his hair, before blinking rapidly.

He didn’t want to look anymore. He didn’t want to look at his eyes. He was scared. No- he was terrified. 

Shaking.

Nonetheless, he forced himself to look into the mirror, dropping his gaze from his hair, staring himself in the eyes.

Blue-grey, please, just be blue-grey. Look that same stormy grey color as always.

A quick glance told him they were, stormy light grey.

He slammed his eyes shut quickly, before he had actually taken the time to decipher his gaze.

He took a deep, shaking breath, and looked again. They weren’t blue-grey, not like he had always thought they were. No, now that he was actually looking at them, focusing on their color-

His eyes were purple. A desaturated pale violet, so barely there that they could be mistaken as blue, or just a flat grey. But they weren’t.

Silver hair and purple eyes.

Jaime stumbled back from the mirror, his breath coming faster, harsh now as he backed up until his knees hit the shitty bed he’d rented, dropping down onto the edge of it. He was trying hard to coach himself away from panic, counting his breaths like he had some many times in the recent years.

Five in. Hold. Five out.

Five in.   
Hold.   
Five out.

Five-

He couldn’t hold the pattern, his lungs pulling a desperate inhale, cutting himself off with a sob as he clapped his hand over his mouth.

No wonder Father was so fucking strict with him, was so hard on him, so demanding-

Jaime wasn’t a Lannister.

He wasn’t even Tywin’s son.

How had the man managed to put up with him for so long?

Tyrion’s words from the first night on the ship came back to him, and Jaime let out a startled laugh, his chest tight.

He wasn’t crazier than a Targaryen.

He was a Targaryen.

Jaime wasn’t sure how long he laughed, but he was sure that it was far from an acceptable length of time. If anyone had heard him, they would surely be worrying after his mind right now.  
Maybe he was actually going mad?

Pulling his knife off his belt, he moved to the mirror again, grabbing his hair, before realizing the flaw in his plan, looking down to his false hand and hissing in annoyance.

He would have to actually ask for Varys’s help, he supposed.

He would prefer Tyrion’s honestly. Maybe his brother could help shed some light on what the hell this meant. How to handle the situation.

Had Tywin been dying Cersei’s hair as well?

No, he couldn’t have been. She favored this odd lavender scent. He had washed her hair with it far more than once, and it had never discolored his fingers like his own had. Did she somehow not inherit the hair?

They were twins after all- or was that another lie?

Who the hell was his blood? He was a bastard, he knew that, but whose? 

His age made only one true possibility, but he was refusing that thought, pushing it down and aside and locking it away behind every barricade his mind could build. 

He refused to call Aerys father.

Gods, he had murdered his father.

There was a soft knock at the door, and he started, looking to it as Varys entered, pausing when he saw Jaime standing in front of the mirror. And what a sight he must have been, tears wet on his cheeks (when had he started to cry?), half dressed, grabbing his hair with a knife in hand.

The man cautiously closed the door behind himself, before offering his hand to him.

“If you’re attempting to cut your hair, my Lord, may I suggest my help?” he offered.

Jaime could have hugged him. How the hell Varys managed to just… roll with every punch thrown at him, he had no idea. It was a quality he certainly appreciated in the man.

Handing over the knife, he swallowed hard. “It doesn’t have to look good.” he said softly, dragging over the chair and plopping down into it without grace.

The man nodded and moved forward. “I take it that you at least want some hair remaining?”

Jaime swallowed hard, before nodding. “I don’t think I could pull off bald half as well as you do.” he joked weakly.

Varys hummed in response to that, his hands pausing as he saw the color under his fingers. To his credit, he didn’t say anything, instead, he took a lock in hand, starting to cut away the dyed ends without comment.

When they were done, Jaime reached up, rubbing at his now short hair uneasily. It was even easier to see the color now.

“What dye could make silver hair look golden?” he asked softly.

Varys hummed. “Henna, perhaps? Or a mix between a brown and a yellow dye, if measured cautiously. Similar to how someone would dye fabric? I will admit to a lack of knowledge when it comes to hair care.” he said, motioning to his bald head.

Jaime looked to him, before nodding a bit and finally turning away from the mirror, pulling his clothing on.

“I left my favorite jacket.” he murmured. “I don’t suppose we’ll be landing anywhere with a cheap tailor and armorer, will we?” he asked with a nervous chuckle.

Varys hummed. “We will be staying some time with a friend of mine. Magister Illyrio Mopatis,” he explained. “He’ll have you properly outfitted when we arrive. Certainly *well*, once he sees your new hair.”

Jaime made a face at that. “Maybe I should go bald, even if I’d look awful.” he said, voice flat and unhappy

Varys hummed a touch. “I highly doubt you can avoid your newfound heritage by shaving.” he said finally, watching him. “Nothing you do, short of becoming a recluse, will allow you to avoid it. Surely you’re used to people attempting to bribe your favor? You have lived your entire life as a Lannister, and the Queen’s brother.”

Jaime swallowed, shaking his head some. “No, most people stopped caring when I was named a Kingsguard. Without being able to marry their daughters, what good am I to most? Anyone who believed I had sway with Cersei was either a fool, or far too hopeful,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t want people viewing me as a Targaryen. I’m not. I’m a Lannister. I’ve always been a Lannister.”

“Could it be that you’re both?” Varys offered, brushing his hands, making sure he wasn’t too covered in hair. “There’s no denying your blood, now that you know.” he pointed out. “That was one secret Tywin had very close, apparently. I can see why, however. Robert would have killed you.”

Jaime swallowed hard.

“I don’t know why he bothered.” he murmured after a moment, before getting up, leaving the room to go check on Tyrion. 

Varys raised a brow at the comment, watching him go, before looking down at the mess of hair on the floor, toeing at it some. This was certainly an interesting development.

\-----

Tyrion groaned as he was poured out onto a rich carpet, making a face and throwing his arm over his eyes dramatically, shielding himself from the light.

“I’m going to open my eyes, and my brother isn’t going to be standing above me.” he said flatly, before dropping his hand away, blinking rapidly. And then he stared, his mouth opening some, forcing himself to sit up.

“Have you seen a ghost, Jaime? You’ve gone grey.”

Jaime swallowed hard, shaking his head a bit. “I wish.” he said bitterly. “A ghost might have answers. I’ve been debating writing Father.”

Tyrion stumbled to his feet, before walking past Jaime and pouring himself a tall glass of wine, downing it in all but record time. “Writing him won’t help.” he said after a moment, his voice strained. “I killed him.”

Jaime went still, both he and Varys turning to stare at the man.

Jaime spoke first. “You… what?” he asked, his voice tight, shaking some. “Tyr- tell me you’re lying.”

Tyrion gave a choked laugh, pouring two glasses this time, walking back to Jaime and offering him the second. “I would say I wish I was, but I don’t.” he said.

The glass was shaking in his hand.

This was a bad dream. This had to be a bad dream. Jaime stood, ignoring the wine, dragging his hand down his face as he digested that information, his breath fast and short. “I- you… you killed Father.” he repeated softly.

He couldn’t put into words what he was feeling right now. Anger, yes. Sadness, yes. Betrayed, yes. But those weren’t all of it.

Above everything, he was desperately, and horrifically confused.

A selfish thought came to him as he stared out the window of the room, seeing unfamiliar plants, able to see the heat rippling off the stones of the courtyard beneath them, a far cry from the dropping temperatures at home.

Tywin wouldn’t have told anyone else about you.

Who would explain it all to him now. No one else would know it all.

He took a deep breath, finding it shaking, and fought off the sob that was clawing it’s way up his throat. “I… Tyr I don’t know what to say.” he said, turning to look at the man again. He wanted to scream and rage at him, but this was Tyrion.

He could never stay mad at him, and Gods, Tyrion looked just as broken as Jaime did. How much wine had he had in the few minutes they had been there already? The pitcher was empty, and so was the glass Tyrion had poured for Jaime.

“Do you plan to eat any solid food, my Lord?” Varys asked with a frown, watching Tyrion as the man turned the pitcher upside down in disgust.

The clatter as Tyrion threw the metal pitcher made Jaime flinch, and his jaw tighten, moving forward just in time to gather Tyrion’s hair back for him as the man retched on the floor. 

Jaime looked to Varys. “Can you ask for a broth to be made up for him?” he asked gently. “And warm bread.”

Tyrion groaned. “I don’t want food. I want more wine. If I want to drink myself to death, I damn well will.”

Jaime frowned. “And you’ll have no more wine until you eat. I’ve lost two family members in the space of a week, Tyrion. I will not let you drink yourself to death.”

“Are we even family?” Tyrion spat at him, only to freeze, looking up at him, his eyes widening some. “Jaime I didn’t mean-”

Jaime’s jaw clenched, and he dropped his hand away from the man, shaking his head. “You did.” he said softly. “It’s fine.”

Tyrion made a soft noise, caught somewhere between a whine and a sob. He turned, reaching out and grabbing onto Jaime’s forearms, tugging on his sleeves some. “I didn’t.” he said firmly. “You’re my brother.”

Jaime watched him, before nodding some, taking a knee to get closer to Tyrion, leaning their foreheads together gently. “Brothers.” he said softly.

When he pulled away, he looked to the servants as they brought in the food he’d asked for, tugging Tyrion along. “Come eat.”

Tyrion made a displeased noise, but he didn’t protest openly this time.

The meal was tense and uncomfortable, no one really talking much as they picked at their plates. Varys didn’t want to break the tension this time, not entirely sure what to say just yet. Tyrion seemed upset that he wasn’t being allowed to kill himself with drink, and Jaime seemed upset as a whole.

Gods, he regretted getting into politics sometimes.

Finally, when it was clear the other two had no intentions of speaking, he broke the silence. “When you have both recovered from the journey across the sea, and your needs sorted, Magister Mopatis has arranged a carriage for us to continue on.”

Jaime looked to him, tilting his head some. “And where are we going?” he asked with a frown.

Varys shifted some, clearing his throat. “There is someone I’d like you both to meet.”

Tyrion groaned some, glaring at his bowl of broth, barely touched. “I’ve had enough of serving men who think they’re better than me.” he said unhappily.

Varys chuckled some. “Who said anything about a man?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to my US readers! <3 To thank you guys for stopping in and reading, I'm posting an extra chapter today, ahead of schedule! <3 I'll still be posting a chapter this Saturday, so don't worry!

It was hot.

 

It was always hot in Essos, Jaime had known that, but experiencing it was a far different thing. Leaning back against the wall of the carriage, he fanned himself with one of Tyrion’s discarded books, groaning a bit.

 

“I would kill for a breeze.” he said unhappily.

 

Varys looked to him, before chuckling a bit, looking back to Tyrion, who was still mostly drunk. “Unfortunately hard to come by inside a litter.” he said, sighing as Tyrion opened the shutter once more. “Tyrion, we are in  _ hiding _ . That means we need to stay out of sight.”

 

Tyrion gave him a half hearted glare, before turning to look out of the latticed window once more. “As if anyone will recognize us here.”

 

Jaime groaned some. “Brienne used that argument against me once. It cost me my hand. Close the fucking thing.”

 

Tyrion responded by slamming the shutter shut, flopping down onto the cushions with a huff, and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t see why we’re bothering with the secrecy. No one will recognize us, I’m sure of it. If I spend another moment in this litter, I’m going to go insane.” he said, letting his head fall back dramatically.

 

Sighing, Jaime watched him, stretching out as much as he could, his legs sore from being bent so long. Looking to Varys, he gave the man a slight shrug.

 

The spymaster sighed, before giving a short nod. “We’ll stay at an inn tonight, but we have to continue on through Volantis.” he said with a sigh. 

 

There was a long moment of silence, the two men watching as Tyrion studied and empty bottle, before dropping to the pile of pillows, fighting to stay awake. It was nerve wrecking, watching the man come undone before their eyes like this.

 

Had Tyrion eaten  _ anything _ solid since they had gotten in the litter?

 

“Ser Jaime-  _ you  _ should be riding ahead of us from this point.”

 

Jaime blinked at that. “What?” he asked flatly.

 

Varys gave him an even stare. “Tyrion will be a great help to Daenerys as an advisor, but we can’t be sure how she’ll receive  _ you. _ Giving her a bit of time between the two meetings may soften her reaction to them both.”

 

“I’m a liability, you mean.” he said with a frown.

 

Varys pressed his lips together, before finally giving a slight nod. “I know how she’ll handle Tyrion,  _ if _ I can sober him some before the meeting. However her history with brothers is-” he paused, searching for a delicate phrase. “Less than promising.” he said finally.

 

Jaime sighed some, swallowing hard before nodding. “I understand.” he said softly. He couldn’t risk Tyrion’s safety for his own selfishness. He had left everyone in Westeros, and now he needed to leave the only member of family he had left.

 

“Is there a horse I can take?” he asked after a moment, tugging at one of the straps on his fake hand, not wanting to look up and see the look on Tyrion’s face, though if he wasn’t interjecting, he might have finally fallen asleep.

 

Varys nodded. “And a small group of guards to go with you.” he said with an apologetic tone. “You’ll arrive there before us, I’m sure. Most likely a week or so ahead of us. Hopefully that will be enough time to temper whatever anger she may have.”

 

Jaime frowned, glancing over at Varys. “You think she’ll be angered at my presence?”

 

“You’re an older brother. Bastard or not, you are a Targaryen, and male.” Varys explained, tucking his hands inside his sleeves. “If she thinks you may try to claim the throne- I wouldn’t wish to be you.”

 

His lip twisted some, and Jaime shook his head. “I don’t want the throne.” he said firmly. 

 

“She doesn’t know that yet.” Varys pointed out.

 

Jaime groaned aloud. “I’ll make it perfectly clear when I meet her, then.” he said finally. “I don’t want that fucking chair, the crown, or anything to do with ruling. That’s the beginning and end of my involvement with the Iron Throne, now.”

 

Varys hummed. “I’m not the one you need to convince, Ser Jaime.” he said, that cautiously cheerful tone to his voice as always. “It’s the Mother of Dragons.”

 

Jaime went still, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. How the hell had he forgotten about the fucking dragons?

 

“Right.” he murmured, before nodding a bit, looking back to his brother, the man indeed passed out in the cushions, his cup empty and forgotten as he fought to stay awake. Tyrion really was in horrible shape right now.

 

If the best way to help him, was to leave, it was what he would do.

 

\----

 

“You have to leave?” Tyrion asked, frowning as he watched Jaime load his things onto the back of his horse, his jaw tight.

 

Jaime looked to him, pulling the ties to a pack shut with his teeth. Letting the leather drop from his mouth, he sighed some. “I do.” he said. “We have a better chance at both finding asylum if we approach separately. If it weren’t for my hair, I’d stay with you.” he explained, sighing heavily. “You know I don’t want to leave you.”

 

“And yet you are.” Tyrion snapped, before sighing himself, and giving a begrudging nod, reaching out for Jaime’s hand.

 

The knight gave him a small smile, taking his hand, giving a firm squeeze. Dropping to one knee, he used the grip he had on him to pull him into a hug, wrapping his arms tight around him. “We’ll see one another soon, I promise you that.”

 

Tyrion clung to his shirt for a long moment, squeezing his eyes shut, before pulling away and nodding. “I know.” he said, giving him a thin smile. “Just make sure it’s in good health, and sooner rather than later. We’ll only be a week behind you, or so.”

 

“Two, if I make good time.” Jaime said, grinning at him, before standing once more, swinging into his saddle. “And do try to actually lay low. We are in hiding, Tyrion.” he said, before giving a wave, and nudging his horse forward.

 

He hated leaving the man behind, but if this was what was best-


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support <3 It's really been such a wonder, seeing the positive response to this fic! I'll be posting new chapters every Saturday until we're done! I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

Jaime stared up at the walls of Meereen, the heat bearing down on them as he kept his distance for a long moment. 

 

His heart was hammering in his throat, his horse shuffling under him, his nervousness feeding into the animal. “I know- I’m sorry boy.” he murmured, reaching down to pet Jela’s neck gently, before finally guiding him forward, his guards trailing just after him as they approached the gates.

 

The Unsullied at the gate looked them over as they came to a stop, putting up a hand, speaking in Valyrian.

 

Jaime blinked, looking to the captain of his guard, a no-nonsense man from Pentos named Rock. Jaime was rather fond of his name, truth be told. Apparently the man was a former slave, one of the reasons he was so eager to come meet the Breaker of Chains here in Meereen.

 

“He asks our business.” Rock translated, giving a slight shrug.

 

Jaime swallowed, before looking back to the Unsullied. “We have come to seek an audience with Her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen.”

 

The man watched them a long moment, before looking to the guards past him, and frowning some. “I will have someone bring you to Pyramid.” he said, motioning another of the Unsullied forward.

 

Jaime blinked, before nodding, glad to be allowed into the city at all. Having an armed escort to the Pyramid was the least of his concerns, truly.

 

The streets were crowded, people coming forward to get a peek at the new comer, most likely just for the interest of it. He couldn’t imagine that too many people were coming to Meereen with the current political climate. Thankfully he’d had the foresight to wear a hood, his hair hidden away from view, taking care not to make eye contact with anyone.

 

His guards kept close, nudging people out of the way gently as they moved through the streets, having learned quickly that Jaime didn’t accept harsher methods of parting crowds.

 

It almost felt comforting, being in the press of a city again. It was far from King’s Landing, but it was still so familiar. The sound of the people, so loud that you couldn’t truly make out conversations, but only different voices and tones. Children shrieking in laughter, racing through the crowds, people calling after them as they were jostled.

 

He could tell when they passed the market places, hearing wares being called in a different languages, the scent of spices thick in the air.

 

If he’d had any time to himself, Jaime would have stopped just to look at the various sights, but he didn’t have that option just yet. Instead, he pressed forward, his hand tangling in his stallion’s mane for comfort, trying to ignore the mounting anxiety in his gut.

 

This was such a similar feeling to marching into a battle, though Jaime was missing the saving grace of adrenaline. When one anticipated a fight, it could override the fear, the worry- you could lose yourself to the battle.

 

He didn’t have that option this time.

 

Instead, all he had was pure dread. How do you go to a woman you have never met, and ask for asylum based on parentage you hadn’t known before?

 

Jaime was at an utter  _ loss _ .

 

Nonetheless, he took a deep breath, slipping out of the saddle when they finally came to the great building. Now that he was in it’s shadow, he could appreciate how large it was. Not nearly as tall as the Red Keep, but the base was far larger.

 

He felt significantly small.

 

Passing his reins over to a guard who would be staying outside until they knew if they were staying or not, he moved to follow the Unsullied guide inside, only to be stopped by one at the door.

 

“Who are you, and what is your business?”

 

Gods, when was the last time that Jaime had had to introduce himself to be let in somewhere? Everyone in Westeros recognized him, or his family crest.

 

Jaime gave the man a thin, grudging smile, before reaching up, guiding the hood from his head. The sun was bright, highlighting the color of his hair, so stark in contrast to the black hair common to the area.

 

“My name is Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. I’m here to seek an audience with her Grace, Queen Daenerys.” he said, hoping his voice sounded calmer, stronger than he felt.

 

The Unsullied guards were staring at his hair, one of them moving forward, gripping Jaime’s chin firmly, pulling his face to the light, studying his eyes as well, before turning to his partner, murmuring in Valyrian.

 

Jaime fought not to yank away from the touch, having gone still when he was grabbed. It made him feel anxious, cagey, to be touched by people he didn’t know. After so long at the hands of the Starks- 

 

He still flinched if people moved too fast near him.

 

When the man finally released him, he clenched his jaw some, watching them as they discussed things, before finally nodding to Jaime.

 

He fell in step behind them when they motioned him forward, hurrying him through the halls and up far too many stairs.

 

Jaime wasn’t bothering to look around, to study the decorations or stone work just yet. He was counting steps, the turns they took, memorizing the path in reverse, making sure that if he had to run, he could fight his way out.

 

Rock stayed just a step behind him the entire way, close enough that Jaime could occasionally feel him bump against his elbow, clearly nervous being inside the pyramid. How long had it been since the man was a slave? He could sympathize with the anxiety being in Meereen must be giving him.

 

Coming to a waiting chamber before the throne room, the guards motioned him towards a bench against the wall, leaving him to wait as they went to ask what to do with him.

 

He wanted to get up and run. To run to the docks and  _ swim _ back to Westeros.

 

Instead he sat there, rubbing at the join of his prosthetic and wrist, the thick leather and soft cotton that kept it from aching too much, and the heavy straps that held it into place. It itched still, often, and the phantom pains, while coming less often now, were still enough of a problem that Jaime had sleepless nights more than he’d like.

 

How long had he been waiting now?

 

Surely only a few minutes?

 

Why did it feel like hours already.

 

“Ser?” Rock asked cautiously. “You look like you’re headed for the Gallows.”

 

He knew it was just to break the ice. They had talked openly the entire ride here. He couldn’t blame the man for being uncomfortable in the silence now.

 

Jaime just didn’t feel like explaining it all right now.

 

He shook his head a bit. “I’m always nervous, meeting new people. You never know how nobles will be. I’ve lived with far too many to trust any.” he joked, flashing him a smile that was more confident looking than he felt.

 

The Captain chuckled a bit, but he still looked as uneasy as Jaime felt. His lips were tight, brow furrowed, the tight rows of braids that pulled his thick hair back from his face making the expression look even more taut.

 

Conversation fell back off, Jaime leaning back against the wall behind him, closing his eyes and trying to just  _ not think _ .

 

It wasn’t really working.

 

He was worried about his brother, about his family back in Westeros, about what Daenerys would say upon meeting him, if he’d even be allowed to stay-

 

Would he be expected to justify the murder of Aerys? Or why he hadn’t stopped the massacre of her… no,  _ their  _ family?

 

How do you explain to someone who didn’t know Tywin Fucking Lannister, that it didn’t matter if you didn’t agree, you did what he said, because  _ he  _ said it?

 

Gods, his father was  _ dead. _

 

That thought made him open his eyes, staring at the ceiling of the room, swallowing hard.

 

At least the room had interesting stone and metal work, the decorative latticing giving him something to focus on, committing the pattern to memory as his leg bounced up and down.

 

He was about to ask Rock how to go about having a glass of water found for him, when the door to the audience room finally opened. Jaime stood quickly, almost whacking his guard with his scabbard in his haste to turn.

 

The woman was gorgeous, nodding greetings to him as she offered him a friendly smile, her long natural hair held back with a single braid, leather laced through it. “Her Grace is ready to receive you, Ser Lannister.”

 

Jaime swallowed, nodding to her and moving forward, following her into the room.

 

He spotted the dias for him to stand on first, before his gaze slowly, nervously, followed up the tall stairs to the throne.

 

It was empty.

 

Instead, Daenerys was standing beside it, her hands together before her, twisting her ring absently, caught half through her pacing, turning to look at Jaime when she heard the doors open.

 

She was the most beautiful woman that Jaime had ever seen.

 

He faltered in his steps some, taking her in. Her hair was down past her waist, the color almost identical to his own, her eyes so bright, so beautifully vibrant- Gods, seeing her was leaving him at a loss.

 

He had been expecting… he wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting. Someone more severe looking, perhaps? Someone more decorated with finery, with sharper features, perhaps armor or metalwork to drive home the intimidating tone of her titles.

 

She was the Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, the Unburnt, and here she was standing before him in a simple white dress, navy blue strips of leather holding it tight to her body. She wore one ring, the sigil ring of her position, and a simple banded necklace. Daenerys’s features were soft, her nose small, her hair long and cascading- she wasn’t even wearing a crown.

 

She was nothing like what he’d been expecting to see.

 

They stayed like that for a long moment, just staring, memorizing one another’s features, the silence in the chamber stretching out for agonizing minutes.

 

“Your Grace-” Jaime said finally, breaking the silence, his voice barely more than a whisper.

 

Daenerys blinked, before moving to stand before her throne, tilting her chin up, looking down at him from her perch. “Ser Jaime Lannister. Imagine my surprise, hearing who was waiting to see me.”

 

He swallowed hard, giving a short nod.

 

“Imagine my surprise, being here.” Jaime said, attempting at a joke.

 

The silence recaptured the room, before Daenerys finally seemed to break free of the surprised fog she was in, though she didn’t take her seat. “I was under the impression that I was the last of the Targaryens. Aren’t you supposed to have golden hair?”

 

Jaime watched her, wanting to fidget, but not wanting to give away just how anxious he was.

 

“I thought so as well, your Grace.” He hesitated, before realizing she would need some form of explanation, hoping his words made sense, that he didn’t trip over them in his rush to speak before he faltered. “Apparently, my Father has been dyeing my hair without my knowledge. I fled Westeros with my brother, Tyrion Lannister, when I did- the dye began to fade out of my hair. I’ll admit to rather a bit of confusion.”

 

Daenerys watched him, turning his words over in her mind. “And where is your brother now?”

 

“He’ll be arriving soon enough. We thought it might be… better, if we met you one at a time.”

 

Daenerys raised a brow some. “Why?” she demanded.

 

How did he answer that without offending her? He shifted a bit, before deciding to be honest. “I care for my brother deeply, your Grace. If this goes poorly, I rather he be somewhere safe.”

 

“You don’t trust me?” Daenerys asked sharply.

 

Jaime gave her a tense smile. “Do you trust me?”

 

His point was made, the woman not responding to it aloud, taking him in with that pinning stare of hers, twisting the ring on her finger still.

 

“You call Tywin Lannister father, and yet you very clearly have Targaryen blood- did you know, before your… dye? Washed out?” she pressed.

 

Jaime shook his head. “No. But given my age, there’s only one Targaryen who could have sired a bastard.” he said, frowning some.

 

“Aerys.” Daenerys said flatly, watching him. “That makes you my brother.” Jaime nodded. “You killed our father. Don’t think I don’t know how you earned your title.”

 

There it was. Jaime had been waiting for that.

 

He finally pulled his gaze away, taking a deep breath. “He deserved it.” he said.

 

Silence once more.

 

“What exactly do you want, Jaime Lannister?”

 

That… was a good question, honestly. Jaime had to pause, staring at her, taking her in fully. The way her dress clung to her, how strands of her hair were braided back- he took in these details while trying to focus, to honestly assess  _ himself _ .

 

When he spoke, he couldn’t help but feel his answer was lackluster. 

 

“I honestly don’t know.” 

 

He shook his head a bit, before correcting himself. “I know that I want a safe place for my brother and I. That I want to know the truth as to my birth- and I know that I  _ don’t _ want anything to do with the Iron Throne. If you worry that I may I have claim? I don’t want it. I will  _ never _ want it.”

 

Daenerys studied him, her hands still, throat tight. She let his words hang in the air for some time, before she spoke again.

 

“There are far too few Targaryens left, to turn away my brother without even taking the time to know him. You may stay.”

 

Her words made him almost sag in relief. He hadn’t had another plan, in all honesty. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and looked back up at her, offering a weary smile. “Thank you, your Grace.”

 

She tilted her head, almost a nod, before looking to Missandei. “Please have rooms made up for him. Ser Jaime, if would you join me for dinner tonight?”

 

Missandei nodded, before giving a bow, and leaving the room, her footsteps soft.

 

Jaime blinked, looking up to Daenerys, before smiling a bit. “Of course.” he said, “It would be my pleasure.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my chapters are a bit short, and I have a lot of them... I guess I'll be posting twice a week now! ;P

Jaime wished more than anything that Tyrion was here right now. They wouldn’t have had much to talk about with Tyrion in the state he was, but at the very least, they could have kept one another company while Jaime watched the sun setting from the balcony of his suite.

 

It was a nice set of rooms, he had to admit. The mattress was soft, the view was lovely- but Jaime had nothing to occupy his time with. Instead, he was alone with his thoughts, repeating the same few over and over. He wasn’t accomplishing anything but to increase his anxiety.

 

What he wouldn’t give to speak to his father, his actual father. Tywin would know how to handle the situation, he always did. Nothing fazed him.

 

No.

 

Nothing  _ had _ ever fazed him.

 

He needed a distraction, and desperately so.

 

Dinner would be soon, however, so he couldn’t just go exploring about the pyramid. He wasn’t even sure he’d be allowed to do so.

 

Reading was out of the question; the few books already in the suite were in Valyrian, and Jaime had enough of a struggle reading common, let alone a language he didn’t know. Even all the afternoons spent at letters hadn’t cured him of that. They jumped across the page, swapped places- it often felt like the words themselves were out to confuse him.

 

Instead, he stood on the balcony, leaning against the railing, his arms folded on the thick stone banister. He studied the colors of the sky, trying his hardest to just let his mind go blank. 

 

Even the sunset was unbearably hot.

 

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He could almost imagine he was back home, in Casterly Rock. It had been years since he’d actually been there- when was the last time? He had planned to go there after the duel with Ned Stark, but his Father had called for him instead. He hadn’t even gotten to see the familiar dry lands around the Rock before he’d been riding North.

 

He hadn’t actually been  _ home _ since before Aerys, had he?

 

That thought made his throat tight, and his hand squeezed down on his forearm, taking another deep breath.

 

This entire situation was dredging up far too many thoughts of Aerys.

 

He could still hear his  _ voice _ . He wasn’t sure he could ever forget the man’s voice. That harsh rasp that lifted higher at the end of his sentences. The way he spat out the word  _ traitor  _ again and again.

 

He could hear the exact way his lips had formed the word ‘burn’.

 

_ You look so much like your mother, Jaime. Such an interesting thing, how a son can reflect his mother so much more than his father, isn’t it? _

 

The words made his eyes snap open, his heart pounding in anxiety, sweat prickling at the back of his neck, completely unrelated to the heat.

 

Could Aerys have  _ known _ ?

 

He pushed away from the banister quickly, his skin crawling, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

 

He needed to stop thinking about that madman. Jaime had put his past behind him ages ago, hadn’t he?

 

No. 

 

Even he knew that was a lie.

 

Jaime hadn’t actually ever put the past behind. He couldn’t. Robert had made sure of that.

 

Kingslayer.

 

That title was branded onto Jaime, forcing him to recall, to relive it- Every time he signed his name, every time he was announced upon entering a room, or at the beginning of tourney round. Hell, even when just talking to people. How many times had Brienne called him Kingslayer and nothing else?

 

It was as if that was all he was.

 

The Kingslayer.

 

The title felt like Aerys was standing behind him, a gnarled hand around his throat, fingernails pressing into his skin, his voice rasping into Jaime’s ear.

 

_ Do you remember me, Jaime? Do you remember what you did to me? Do you remember what  _ **_I_ ** _ did to  _ **_you_ ** _? _

 

Jaime shoved away from the banister hard, his breath shaking some as he rushed away from the balcony, grabbing onto his chamber pot just in time to retch.

 

He didn’t want these memories. He didn’t want to think about that man ever again. He didn’t want to think  _ at all. _

 

Closing his eyes tightly, he fought off a sob, pushing the pot back under the edge of the bed, trying hard to focus on counting his breaths.

 

Five in. Hold. Five out.

 

He had to make it work this time, to keep calm.

 

Five in. Hold. Five out.

 

It felt too dangerous to left himself break down.

 

Meereen wasn’t King’s Landing, this wasn’t the Red Keep, but still, he had no one he could trust. No one he wanted to trust just yet. Daenerys may have been his sister, but she was still Aerys’s daughter, and a stranger.

 

He didn’t know who she honestly was, beyond just names and relations and titles.

 

He didn’t know her.

 

And he couldn’t trust her. He didn’t dare.

 

He took a long moment, just kneeling on the floor, his eyes squeezed closed, focusing on breathing and trying to force himself to calm down. He had to have his wits about him for dinner in only a few short hours, if that.

 

Five in.

Hold.

Five out.

 

\----

 

It had taken quite a bit for Jaime to calm down, freshly bathed and dressed in a brand new tailored red leather coat, almost close enough to his favorite jacket to calm himself with the familiarity of it. The nights here in Meereen were wonderfully cool compared to the days, allowing Jaime to wear the sort of clothes he was used to, instead of the thin fabrics or sleeveless styles preferred by quite a few here.

 

Once more it reminded him a lot of the climate back at the Rock.

 

He forced that thought away once more, not wanting himself to fall into that spiral again. He was saved from it when he heard the knock at the bedroom door.

 

“Ser? Dinner is ready.”   
  
Jaime opened the door to see Missandei, smiling at her and giving a nod, motioning forward. “If you wouldn’t mind leading the way, my Lady?” he asked.

 

Missandei smiled at him, before nodding some, starting down the hallway. “Her Grace said you’re from Westeros?” she asked, keeping conversation light as they walked. “What’s it like there?”

 

“We’re speaking of the weather?” Jaime joked, earning a chuckle from the woman. “Not too different from Meereen, if you’re in the South. The North is dreadfully cold. I grew up in a place rather like this, actually- though the architecture was different.” he explained, giving a slight shrug. “I’m sure you’ll like it- though, you’ll need winter clothes.”

 

Missandei looked to him. “Winter? I hadn’t realized that had come already. We don’t experience seasons the same here as you do in Westeros. Our chilled seasons come with rain and mud, not snows.”

 

Jamie chuckled and nodded. “I envy you. Snow is dreadful.”

 

Daenerys was waiting inside the room when Missandei opened the door for Jaime, looking just as openly anxious as he was allowing himself too. Her gown was different than earlier, covering a bit more skin in the moderate night temperatures, the deep blue eye catching and regal.

 

Jaime hesitated, looking at the table, before moving forward. “Which seat should I be taking?” he asked.

 

She gave him a small smile, before taking a slight breath, waving her hand to the table. “Any you’d like. For our first meal together, I thought it might be better if it were just the two of us.”

 

Giving her a grateful look, Jaime moved forward, looking over the small circular table, and taking a seat to her right, leaving one space between the both of them. 

 

“You’re welcome to ask anything of me you’d like.” he said after a moment. “After all, we might as well get to know one another eventually.”

 

Daenerys took a sip from her glass, giving him a tense smile over the rim of it, without replying.

 

Silence befell the table, the tension thick as Missandei set the plates of food before them. Jaime studied the appetizers in the meantime, small cooked dates with thin slices of some sort of bacon wrapped around it, and candied nuts topping it off.

 

Hopefully he’d like the food here.

 

“I’m not sure what to ask you.” Daenerys admitted after a while, watching him, not touching her food just yet. “There’s so much I want to know, and so much I’m not sure I  _ want _ to know. You served under Aerys- I want to ask what he was like, but…” she trailed off, taking a slight breath.

 

Jaime let his gaze linger for a moment, before looking to the balcony just behind her, shifting in his seat some. “I can understand the hesitation. He wasn’t a pleasant man.” he said softly, frowning some. He didn’t want dinner to revolve around him either. Instead, he deflected.  “Rhaella- she was worth knowing.”

 

Daenerys looked to him quickly, her hand stilling on her goblet. “My mother?”

 

Jaime smiled. “She was kind. I remember that she used to sneak me sweets, while I was on duty outside of Aerys’s rooms. They didn’t share, after a certain point in time. He didn’t trust anyone to sleep in the room with him, you see-” he took a breath, before sighing some. “She had a laugh that could light up a room. A smile to match it. Soft spoken, but that was for the best. She had no care for politics, really. She said it was too much, to be worried about who was a serpent and who was genuine. She rather avoid it altogether, to spend time with her children.”

 

Daenerys seemed utterly enthralled with what he was saying, having ignored her food and drink completely now, her attention on Jaime and only him. Her eyes glittered with genuine curiosity, hanging on every word. Gods, why were her eyes so pretty? “She sounds lovely.” she said after a moment. “I never knew her.”

 

He gave her a small smile. “I don’t remember my mother, either.” he said. “She died when I was little. Giving birth to Tyrion.” It came out unbidden; he should’ve been focusing on what interested her.

He took a breath, before shaking his head some. “I didn’t know Rhaegar as well as I would have liked- but what I did know of him… he rather took after Rhaella in kindness. He was fair, wise, a great fighter. He would have been a good king.”

 

That sobered Daenerys some, looking back down, using her fork to push at one of the figs. “He died before Aerys did, didn’t he?”

 

Jaime nodded to that. “A few months before. During the Battle of Trident. I wept when I got the news. I had been praying he’d return, that he would claim the throne himself. It didn’t happen.”

 

There was something to his tone, to the way that Jaime looked as he stared at his food- Daenerys couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it felt far too familiar to be comfortable. He almost looked as she had when Viserys had controlled her.

 

She didn’t like the implications of that.

 

“Should I assume that Cersei is also my sister?” she asked finally, watching him.

 

Jaime hesitated at that, glancing up to her. “We are twins.” he said, giving a slight nod. “She doesn’t know.”

 

“Will you be telling her?”

 

Jaime hesitated at that. He hadn’t even thought of it.

 

And now that the thought was in his mind…

 

“I’d rather not, just yet.” he said, looking up to her. “Things are complicated enough in Westeros, without her shedding the Lannister name.”

 

“You didn’t shed the name.” Daenerys asked, tilting her head some.

 

Jaime spoke before he thought, his lip twisting some. “I’ll never take  _ his _ name. I’m a Lannister.”

 

The way that he had spit the words out, it made Daenerys tense, studying Jaime’s face. Her older brother’s face, that thought was still such an odd one- 

 

He looked angry, yes, but most of all, he seemed  _ pained _ .

 

“You don’t have to.” she offered after a moment.

 

Jaime blinked, looking up at her, before clearing his throat, reaching for his wine and taking a slightly larger swallow than was proper.

 

They ate in silence for a moment, neither of them actually feeling hungry now.

 

Neither of them knew what to say, really. What do you ask a stranger of when you shared blood? When one of them had aided in taking down a thousand year dynasty? Had helped destroy what little family you’d had?

 

What do you ask of a man who sat across from  you, visibly in pain at the mere memory of a long dead father?

 

Daenerys had so many questions to ask- Jaime had  _ known  _ her family… but talking of them seemed to upset the man, and she didn’t want to press for her own selfishness. She could imagine how hard it must be to talk of it. The tone he’d had when speaking of Aerys…

 

She swallowed a bite of fig, before trying her luck again.

 

“Was my father as horrible as people say?” she asked softly.

 

Jaime paused.

 

“Yes.” he said eventually. “And no.” His jaw flexed, setting his fork down. “He had bad days, far more often than good ones, but- sometimes he was kind. He swung between these two different states- it was like seeing two completely different people. One day, he’d be understanding, even, easy to talk to. A good king. And then the next, he was so  _ cruel _ . The things he did…”

 

He swallowed hard.

 

“He scared me.”

 

Daenerys felt breathless, watching him. Her brow furrowed some, before she quickly looked down at her plate, not sure what to say. What to  _ feel _ .

 

Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she took a breath, before speaking, her voice tight. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask-”

 

Jaime shook his head. “You have every right to, your Grace.”

 

Blinking at that, Daenerys tilting her chin up some, her frown deepening. “My aim isn’t to hurt you, or to bring up painful memories, Jaime. I don’t need to ask.”

 

That confused Jaime, his frown matching hers, before he turned to look out the window instead.


	6. Chapter 6

“What do we actually know of Jaime?” Daenerys asked Missandei, watching the afternoon sky from her balcony, the dragons tangling in the air, playing with cheerful cries as they weaved in and out of the clouds.

 

Missandei blinked, looking over at her. “He’s the eldest son of Tywin Lannister. A Kingsguard since he was sixteen-”

 

Daenerys put her hand up. “Sixteen?” she asked, turning and looking at her. “Did he volunteer?”

 

Missandei hesitated. “I… do not know, your Grace. What few records of Westeros we have access to, don’t say.”

 

“Would Ser Barristan know?” Daenerys asked with a frown. “Can you call him for me?”

 

She nodded, giving a slight bow and leaving the room. Daenerys frowned as the door closed, running her fingers over the banister slowly, letting the soft texture of the stone ground her. There was a puzzle here that she was slowly piecing together, trying to understand, to know the knight that had come to her.

 

Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. A man who admitted to being frightened by their father, who despised the Targaryen name-

 

He had stabbed their father in the back, but could speak of Rhaegar so  _ fondly _ .

 

She didn’t know what to make of him, honestly, and with each piece she gathered, that fell into place- she wasn’t liking the picture she was seeing in his past.

 

She half dreaded the answers to the questions she couldn’t help but ask.

 

When the knock came, she bid them enter without turning around, recognizing Barristan as he moved into the room, that telltale clink of his armor.

 

“You called for me, your Grace?” he asked.

 

Daenerys hummed her acknowledgement, before turning, looking to him. “You were Kingsguard under my father, were you not?”

 

He nodded. “I was, your Grace.”

 

She pressed her lips together, giving a slight nod, before looking to Missandei. “Will you leave us?” she asked after a moment. Missandei looked surprised, but she bowed her head none the less, and left the room. Daenerys had a feeling that some of the answers she was about to gather from Barristan, weren’t ones that should be heard by others without Jaime’s permission.

 

Barristan looked confused, watching her as she finally came in from the balcony, pouring herself a glass of wine to sip on as they talked. She had a feeling she’d need it, to steel her nerves.

 

“How did Jaime come to the Kingsguard? I know he was sixteen, but information about things like that are hard to come across in Essos.”

 

Barristan grimaced. “Not willingly, if that’s what you ask.” he said, his voice tense. “Lord Tywin, Ser Jaime’s father- he was Hand of the King, and a damn good one. He kept the kingdoms from tearing themselves apart while King Aerys went mad. Eventually, people started to whisper that Tywin truly controlled the crown.”

 

Daenerys felt her brow furrow some, frowning as she swirled the wine in her cup, eyes on Barristan. “What does this have to do with the Kingsguard?”

 

“When you make the vow, when you swear the Oath of a Kingsguard, you renounce any right to lands, title, marriage- it strips you of everything but duty.” he explained. “Jaime had participated in a tourney, and he did well. At the end of it all, King Aerys announced that he’d be taking Jaime into the Kingsguard. It was an insult. He wasn’t even a knight at the time, he was a squire. Aerys did it in order to punish Tywin. He stole his eldest son and heir.”

 

Her hand tightened on the glass, staring at Barristan. “He was a hostage.” she said softly.

 

Barristan nodded. “And Aerys didn’t let him forget that. The way he treated that boy-” he shook his head, sighing some. “I’m sorry, your Grace- I doubt you wish to hear me speak ill of your father.”

 

Daenerys’s jaw clenched, before she shook her head some. “Don’t.” she said softly. “I have to hear it. I need to. Continue.”

 

They made eye contact, holding it for a long moment, before the man sighed and nodded. “He had Jaime follow him around, just about everywhere. More so than any of the other Kingsguard did. Always within sight. And when he wasn’t, he was within sight of the others, so that he couldn’t, as Aerys put it, ‘write to his traitorous father’.”

 

He sighed some, getting up and pouring himself a glass of water, sipping on it. “He used to rant and rave about Tywin to Jaime. Purposely trap the boy into agreeing with him. About how the man was trying to steal his throne, that he thought he would be a better king than Aerys- and he was right. Tywin  _ would _ have been a better king. He lead Westeros into twenty years of peace and plenty before Aerys turned on him. But Tywin had no wish to be king. He wanted Rhaegar on the throne.”

 

“He backed my brother?” Daenerys asked, frowning. “Wasn’t he the one that gave Robert his win?”

 

“Only  _ after  _ Aerys kidnapped Jaime. Tywin kept the Lannister forces neutral until Rhaegar’s death. When Rhaegar died, there was no one he could look forward to taking the throne. He turned on Aerys. As did most of the Lords and Ladies of Westeros. They had been willing to wait out Aerys’s reign for the promise of Rhaegar’s- with him gone, their only reprieve was Robert.”

 

Daenerys’s jaw clenched, and she took a deep breath. “Things aren’t nearly so… black and white as I wish they were.” she said softly. “I had truly hoped I couldn’t understand Tywin’s motivations, that I could hate the betrayal of my family, and condemn it as unjust.”

 

She turned away, biting the inside of her lip, trying to think over what she had just been told.

 

Barristan was quiet, giving her time to process what he’d just said, before hesitating a moment. He shifted in his seat, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again, unsure if what he wanted to said would be received well or not.

 

“Jaime is a good man.” he said finally, watching her. “He has done things for love that most wouldn’t consider honorable- but he had good intentions when he did them. That shouldn’t be discounted when you talk to him.”

 

Daenerys turned, taking in the man, before giving a slight nod. “I’ll keep that in mind, Ser Barristan. A recommendation like that means quite a bit from you.”

 

Now, more than ever, she wished that Jorah were here with her. She could use his counsel.

 

She sighed some, before moving to the table, motioning for Barristan to sit, not having meant to keep him standing so long, though he never complained.

 

“Tell me more about Jaime- about his past and… about him.” she asked gently.

 

\----

 

Jaime couldn’t help but end up at the stables, finding his horse in one of the stalls, thanking the stable boy that had led him to the stallion.

 

He was a gorgeous chestnut, his mane a pale blonde that caught the light so wonderfully.

 

Moving forward, Jaime smiled when the horse recognized him, stepping forward to butt against him, expecting treats like he’d gotten every morning during the trip. Jaime chuckled, smiling and reaching up, petting his neck gently, leaning in to rest his forehead against his mane.

 

“I’ve got an apple for you, boy.” he murmured, fishing it out of  his pocket after a moment, and smiling as the horse lipped at.

 

It was calming, being here with the horses, hearing the various noises as they shuffled in their stalls, some whickering occasionally. He’d had many horses, bred some at home, but there was just something simple and comforting with bonding with one.

 

He couldn’t understand what the stable boys were saying, the Low Valyrian far too rapid for Jaime to pick out even the few words he might understand.

 

Instead of trying to listen in, Jaime found a brush, and moving to the side of his mount, starting to brush his well-cared for coat, the methodical motions helping him to focus on nothing but his task.

 

“What is his name?”

 

The voice broke through Jaime’s routine, and he blinked, looking to the side in confusion, seeing a man leaning against the gate to the stall, his bare arms crossed, taking in the knight with a look of easy interest.

 

He hated waited a moment too long apparently, the man nodding to the horse. “His name?” he pressed.

 

Jaime blinked, before clearing his throat and speaking. “Oh, uh- it’s Assa.” he said. “He’s only been mine for a short time.” he said, setting the brush aside, tangling his hand in the stallion’s mane instead.

 

The man grinned at the name. “He must be a nervous one.” he said.

 

Jaime couldn’t help but smile back, giving a nod. “He is. How did you know?”

 

“Assa is a Dothraki word. Like-” he hesitated, trying to find the right way to describe it in common. “Like to calm? A noise you make to help soothe.”

 

“Like shushing a child?” Jaime asked for clarification, getting a nod in agreement. He hummed some, turning the word over slowly, committing the meaning to memory. “I’m Jaime.” he said after a moment, looking to the man.   
  
He nodded, taking a step back from the gate, letting Jaime out of the stall, giving him the chance to take in the man standing before him. He wasn’t dressed like the Unsullied or the other nobles he had met, a woven leather pauldron the only covering he wore over his chest, pants loose and low.

 

“My name is Kovarro. I am one of Khaleesi’s dothrakqoyi.” he explained.

 

“Her bloodrider? An honor to meet you.” Jaime said, nodding to him.

 

Kovarro raised a brow, looking him over. “You know of bloodriders?” he asked curiously.

 

Jaime gave a slight shrug. “Of them.” he said. “My guard captain, Rock- he’s told me some of the Dothraki, but not all. He’s the one that named my horse.”

 

The man nodded some, before looking to the stable doors, motioning with his arm. “You’re the Khaleesi’s brother?” he asked, starting to walk, Jaime following after him curiously. “I had thought she only had one.”

 

Jaime nodded to that. “So had I.”

 

“Hopefully you are nothing like her last brother.” Kovarro joked, grinning some.

 

Jaime blinked, looking to him. “Did you know Viserys?” he asked.

 

The man nodded. “I have been Khaleesi’s guard since she joined the khalasar. I watched her brother die.”

 

Jaime frowned some, before hesitating. “Tell me of him?” he asked curiously. “I never met him. He was a child when I was with their Father. I can’t imagine he was a very pleasant man, the way everyone talks around him.”

 

Kovarro sneered some, his lip curling up and shaking his head. “He was a  _ worm _ .” he spat. “I can tell you only what I saw of him.”

 

Jaime nodded. “That’s more than I know now.”

 

The Dothraki looked at him, before nodding. “This will take a bit.” he said with a put upon sigh.

 

\----

 

Jaime was turning over what he had learned as he found his way to his balcony once more. He had a feeling that by the time Daenerys was ready to sail for Westeros, that he would have worn a path into the stone.

 

There were parts of what Kovarro had said that kept swimming to the forefront of Jaime’s mind, circling thoughts he didn’t want to have.

 

_ When she angered him, he threatened her. Told her not to ‘wake the dragon’. _

 

Jaime squeezed his eyes closed, trying to pin why that felt so  _ familiar _ to him, his hands gripping the banister tightly.

 

_ I am your Queen. _

 

And there it was.

 

Jaime’s eyes snapped open, and he took a deep breath, swallowing hard. He shook his head, trying to force the thoughts away, looking out over the city beneath them, counting his breaths once more.

 

Five in.

Hold.

 

His exhale was harsh and fast, leaning forward as he sucked in another quick exhale. Even the air was hot here.

 

That wasn’t the  _ same _ . Viserys was known to be cruel and petty and selfish- Cersei wasn’t like that. She was… she was beautiful, and kind-

 

_ When it serves her. _

 

The thought sounded so much like Tyrion that he almost spun to look for his brother, swallowing hard.

 

How many times had his brother come to him crying because of some cruelty Cersei had done to him? How often had she spat out insults, called him a monster or a wretch, even when he wasn’t in the room to be hurt by it?

 

Jaime had never understood her hatred of him.

 

She would go on for ages about how Tyrion was a murderer, that he’d stolen mother from them but-

 

More women had died in childbirth than there were stars in the sky. Jaime couldn’t understand blaming a babe for the death of a mother. Tyrion had been an infant. He hadn’t done anything maliciously.

 

He remembered once, when he’d tried to defend Tyrion to her, to explain that-

 

_ How can you speak so fondly of the creature that murdered our mother? Are you even a Lannister? How can you care so little about her?! _

 

Was he a Lannister?

 

He had remembered how firmly he’d believed it, for so long. His entire life, he had been Jaime Lannister, the proud eldest son of Tywin Lannister.

 

A golden lion, like his father before him.

 

Except he wasn’t, was he?

 

Nor was he as proud or strong as his father.

 

Had that been why he’d always felt so out of place? So divorced from how his father spoke of duty and family?

 

He sighed, before looking up to the sky, seeing the dragons tangling together, their cries reaching him.

 

Swallowing hard, Jaime closed his eyes, trying to focus on calming down, on just  _ being. _

 

He wasn’t sure how many breaths he’d counted, or how long he’d stood there alone, but he felt far calmer when he finally opened his eyes. Glancing back up to the clouds, he blinked when he only saw two forms in the sky.

 

Where had the golden one gone?

 

There was a rush of air, and Jaime looked to the side, seeing the dragon settling in the space beside him, blocking the doorway to his suite, his fiery eyes focused sharply Jaime alone.

 

Going perfectly still, Jaime watched the creature, wondering if he’d be able to make it past him to the door before he was set upon, not daring to move a muscle as he studied him.

 

The dragon gave a soft trill, moving forward along the balcony, almost too big to fit on the wide stone ledge, his head low as he slunk forward, tail lashing through the air with a laziness to it.

 

Well, if he got eaten, at least it would be a memorable death.

 

Jaime swallowed hard, trying to break his body out of the surprised shock that held it still, his hand still on the banister as the dragon closed the distance between them and-

 

Was it  _ nuzzling _ him?

 

Jaime started, his hand snatching away from the curious headbutting, releasing his breath all at once as the dragon jumped, giving a playful trill and leaning forward again, seeking his hand out once more.

 

A startled laugh left him, and Jaime reached forward, holding his hand in the air as the dragon headbutted against his palm, rubbing the top of his head against his fingers when Jaime didn’t immediately start to pet him.

 

He was petting a fucking dragon.

 

It was nearly the size of a horse at this point. Bigger, if you counted the wings.

 

This was mad.

 

Shaking his head some, Jaime took a step closer, drawing his fingers down his neck gently, marveling at the warmth beneath his hand, the way the scales shifted and rippled with each movement.

 

“You’re beautiful, do you know that?” he murmured in awe, his hand trailing back up, scratching at the sensitive membrane just under the dragon’s chin, eliciting a loud purr. “Listen to you- like a… very large kitten.”

 

Looking back to the sky, he kept petting the dragon, letting him monopolize his hand, stroking along his head and neck as he studied the sky once more, seeing the other two playing still, dipping and tangling and shooting up high into the clouds.

 

“What I wouldn’t give to be that free.” he murmured softly, before looking back to the dragon on the banister, smiling some. “Go play with your brothers, little one.”

 

That got him a chirp, before the dragon headbutting against his chest fondly, and lunged forward, dropping off the balcony, only to surge up with a powerful pump of his wings, catching air and spiraling up into the air with the others.

 

Perhaps he truly was a Targaryen.

 

Why didn’t that thought comfort him?


	7. Chapter 7

Daenerys was called to the study by the sound of laughter, her fingers trailing across the stone wall as she stopped just past the door, wondering just who could make Kovarro and Malakho sound so amused.

 

“Mihesof,” one of them said, his voice slow, as if trying to teach a child the word.

 

There was a pause of silence, before Jaime’s voice came, butchering the word so beautifully that Daenerys had to put her hand over her mouth to hold back her own laugh.

 

“No, no. Mi-he-sof.” It was Malakho who was speaking, sounding the word out one syllable at a time.

 

“Mi-” Jaime started, Daenerys sneaking forward just a bit to catch sight of them through the doorway. “Hay-” he was cut off with a shake of Kovarro’s head. He gave an exasperated laugh, grinning wide, listening to the hiss of his whetstone as he drew his dagger across it. “Alright- say it again?”

 

“Mihesof.”

 

Jaime nodded as if he understood, taking a breath, before trying again. “Mi-he-soft?”

 

“Close. Close. Mihesof.” Kovarro repeated. “Dagger. Mihesof.”

 

Jaime hummed. “Mihesoft.  No, I did it again- Mihesof?”

 

Both of the Dothraki cheered loudly, making Jaime start laughing again, shaking his head some. “Alright. I got  _ one _ word right. Mihesof, dagger.”

 

Kovarro nodded. “Good. Good. We’ll make Dothraki of you in no time, Vizhadi.”

 

Jaime grinned, ducking his head some, before looking down the edge of his dagger, passing the whetstone to Kovarro, the man drawing his own blade along it, twisting with the curve. “Here’s a word for you to learn- this type of dagger is called a baselard.”

 

Kovarro groaned some. “Bastlord?” he tried, only to wrinkle his nose, knowing he’d gotten it wrong.

 

Daenerys shook her head some, drawing back before they caught sight of her. She could speak to her bloodriders later, she didn’t want to ruin the moment the men were having.

 

It felt good, seeing Jaime smile and laugh. Ser Barristan had described to her a man with no lack of wit or charm- But she had only seen him so  _ somber _ , it was so obvious how out of place the man felt.

 

She wished she knew what to do to put him at ease.

 

She was half down the hall before she heard the men cry out in surprise, turning quickly, her skirts flaring as she rushed back down the hall.

 

“Hey there, beautiful.”

 

For a moment, Daenerys had thought Jaime was talking to her, opening her mouth to snap back, only to realize that Viserion had made his way in through the balcony, pressing tight against Jaime’s side, having worked his head under Jaime’s hand.

 

That purr she loved so much was loud enough to be heard from the doorway, watching as the man laughed some, setting his dagger aside to give the dragon room to drape half over his lap, far too large to fit fully, even as curled up as he was.

 

She swallowed hard, feeling her breath shallow and fast.

 

He looked so handsome just now, that light catching his bright silver hair, a dragon in his lap, stretching his wings out lazily as Jaime smiled down at him.

 

She blinked rapidly, before tilting her chin up, speaking to announce herself.

 

“His name is Viserion.” she said, watching Jaime as the man’s head jerked up to look at her. “He’s the smallest of the three. He quite enjoys being pet.”

 

Jaime swallowed, before giving a nod. “He barely fits in through the doors. Soon they won’t be able to get into the pyramid at all.” His hands didn’t pause, running along the small spines along Viserion’s back, drawing a little chirp from him.

 

“I’m surprised he came to you.” she said. “Normally they don’t trust anyone but myself.”

 

Jaime hesitated, watching her. “He landed on my balcony the other day. Perhaps he’s simply fond of my good looks?”

 

They both knew that Jaime’s cheerful disposition or handsome features were  _ not  _ why a dragon had taken to the man, but she wasn’t sure what to say. He was so keen to continue denying or downplaying his Targaryen blood. Instead, Daenerys watched him, letting him avoid the truth, giving a slight nod. “I’m glad.”

 

Silence fell for a moment, and Kovarro exchanged glances with Malakho, shifting uncomfortably. They looked to the dragon, before standing, bowing their heads to Daenerys.

 

“We should return to our duties-” Kovarro excused, the two men slipping past as Daenerys stepped to the side.

 

She watched them retreat, before looking back to Jaime. “My apologies, I seem to have scared off your company.”

 

He shook his head some. “You have nothing to apologize for, your Grace.”

 

Daenerys watched him, her eyes trailing over his face, before she looked down the hall once more, seeing it now empty. “Daenerys.” she said finally.

 

Jaime blinked, looking up at her.

 

“We’re family. When we’re alone, call me by my name-” she hesitated, before giving him a small smile. “Jaime.”

 

He blinked at that, as if the thought of being so casual with her had never occurred to him.

 

After a moment, he offered her a smile in return. “Daenerys.” It was soft, almost reverent as he turned the name over his tongue, eyes not leaving hers for a moment.

 

Daenerys’s lips parted some, as if she wanted to speak, but she couldn’t think of what to say. Finally, she moved forward, coming to sit on the chair that her bloodriders had fled from, folding her hands in her lap.

 

“What makes it a baselard?” she asked finally.

 

Jaime blinked at the question, before smiling some, turning the freshly sharpened dagger over, offering her the hilt to it. “It’s more of a general name, for daggers of a similar shape and length. I’ve seen some people call a true short sword a baselard, just so they could claim they have the largest dagger.” he joked some.

 

Daenerys took the blade from him carefully, surprised at the weight of it, turning it over to look at the well polished blade. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” she asked with a slight chuckle. “So, what makes one a baselard, and one just a dagger? Is there a true difference?”

 

Jaime nodded some. “It’s not in the length, really. Baselards are known for having a long blade, nearly a short sword, but the hilt design is different than a short swords would be, so you wield it differently.” he explained, half wondering if he was boring her. Gods knew that Cersei hated hearing about weapons or technique.

 

Brutish and dull, she’d always said.

 

Daenerys, however, seemed fascinated, turning the blade and studying the leather wrapped around the hilt.

 

Finally, she shifted, offering it back to him. “I will admit, I don’t know much of weapons or fighting.” she said, watching him. “You seem passionate about them, however. I’m certainly willing to learn about them, if you’re willing to teach me.”

 

Jaime blinked, taking in that genuine look of affection, the way she was smiling in such an honest way.

 

He swallowed some, ducking his head and taking the dagger back. “I wouldn’t want to bore you, your-” he caught himself. “Daenerys.”

 

“You don’t bore me, Jaime. I want to know about the things you love.”

 

Jaime couldn’t help the slight flush on his cheeks, smiling back at her, before nodding some. “Alright then- but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

\----

 

“So a rondel is an different type of dagger, but Jaime doesn’t like them, because he thinks the handles are unwieldy and bulky. And baselards are  _ almost  _ the length of a short sword, but have a hilt difference? And short swords aren’t daggers, but some daggers are short swords.” Daenerys repeated, her voice carrying a bit of confusion as she hoped that she was getting the facts right.

 

Missandei chuckled some, using a cup to gently wet Daenerys’s hair. “He seems to be teaching you quite a bit.” she teased, smiling. “Perhaps you could explain the difference between a dagger and a knife then?” 

 

Daenerys paused, going to respond, only to pause and hum. “Perhaps I should ask him that tomorrow- I don’t remember if he mentioned it.” she said with a laugh, closing her eyes.

 

“I don’t know what to make of him. Half the time, I think he’s finally opening up, that I’m truly meeting him- and then I’ll say something, or I don’t say something, or even if I move too quickly, and he’s just… gone. Hidden behind a Kingsguard again.” she said softly, drawing her fingers through the bathwater. Opening her eyes, she watched the ripples across the surface, how they caught and distorted the light from the from candles around them.

 

Missandei frowned some, taking care as she worked the soap into Daenerys’s hair, cautious of tangles. “He’s sweet.” she said after a moment. “He calls me My Lady.” she said with a smile.

 

Daenerys smiled at that. “He’s certainly handsome-” she teased.

 

Missandei giggled at that, shaking her head. “I’m not interested.” she said. “And I don’t think he is either. I’ve known men like him before- He’s aware he’s charming, but just not  _ how  _ charming. He’s a kind man.”

 

Humming, Daenerys closed her eyes again, feeling Missandei washing the suds out, enjoying the warm water along her scalp. “There are precious few of those in this world.” she murmured.

 

“I keep finding myself want to ask him questions- about my father, about  _ his  _ father- what our sister is like, if he likes the food here, what he thinks of me-” she took a deep breath. “I’m both achingly curious, and  _ terrified  _ of hearing his answers. I keep talking myself out of asking.”

 

Missandei paused, watching her, before speaking gently.

 

“You’re the Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, the Unburnt-” she said gently. “But everyone has a fear, your Grace. I don’t have family. Many of your subjects will never know their siblings. If I found I had a brother or sister, and I had the chance to meet them- I’m not sure I would.” she explained. “Blood is one thing to you or the Old Masters, but it doesn’t mean much to a slave. Brothers and sisters aren’t strangers. If you view him as your brother- then don’t let him be a stranger.”

 

Daenerys turned in the bath, looking at Missandei, taking in her expression, before swallowing hard and nodding some.

 

“You’re right.” she said softly. “I don’t  _ want  _ him to be a stranger. I want to know my brother.”

 

She turned back around, letting Missandei finish in a comfortable silence, watching the flames of the candles flickering in the evening breeze.

 

As she was about to get out, Missandei spoke again.

 

“You are right, Khaleesi.” Daenerys hummed, looking to her. “He is very handsome.”


	8. Chapter 8

_ The Unburnt. _

 

That title kept floating around Jaime’s mind, making him frown some as he looked at the candle on his desk.

 

He had been  _ attempting  _ to write a letter home, to tell those he loved that he was safe and unharmed, not to worry for him but he’d spent more time staring at the small flickering flame, than putting pen to paper.

 

He hesitated, looking to his hand, before looking back to the flame.

 

No.

 

Daenerys was a true Targaryen, born legitimately. There was no reason why she should burn. Jaime was a bastard. Something like that wasn’t his birthright.

 

He exhaled harshly through his nose, looking back down to his letter, reading over what little he had.

 

_ Cersei, _

 

_ I hope this letter finds you in good health.  _ _ I had to leave, I hope that you can understand  _ _ I’m sorry I had to leave. _

 

_ There’s a lot I wish I could  _ _ tell _ _ explain to you. _

 

He sighed some, picking up his pen again, wishing his letters would look better, more like they had, instead of this chicken scratch.

 

He dipped the pen into the inkwell, poising it over the page, swallowing hard.

 

His gaze pulled up to the candle once more, watching it dance, the way it dipped and bobbed in the evening breeze.

 

Shaking his head, Jaime looked back down, only to swear aloud, seeing a large drip of ink that had marred the page. He picked the paper up, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it to the pile of other letters across the room.

 

Would Daenerys even allow him to send a letter to them? To her?

 

Technically they were her enemies. She planned to take the throne from Tommen eventually, when things were stabilized here in Meereen.

 

Sighing, he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk, dragging his hand down his face.

 

His right hand  _ ached _ .

 

Looking down to the stump, he pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath. 

 

“Fuck it.” he said finally, throwing his hand out without a moment’s hesitation, his palm open over the flame of the candle before him.

 

It was warm, so fucking warm, but in the end-

 

He pulled his hand back, frowning at his palm, curling his thumb in to rub at the circle of soot that marked his skin.

 

He wasn’t burnt.

 

Frowning, Jaime stood, blowing out the candle quickly. Perhaps the flame wasn’t strong enough?

 

That made no sense, but for some reason, he  _ had  _ to find a bigger flame.

 

It was too warm here to need a fire in his room during dusk, but none the less, he moved forward, kneeling before the fireplace, trying to find a way to work the flint and steel with only one hand.

 

He couldn’t get a fucking spark up.

 

Making a noise in the back of his throat, he shook his head some.

 

He’d have to go out to the hallway, find a torch lit for the light of it or something.

 

The first thing he saw that he considered hot enough to test was a brazier in one of the main hallways, marking the middle of a cross section in the pyramid.

 

Not letting himself rethink it, Jaime moved forward, reaching into the pile of coals, taking one into his hand and giving it a firm squeeze.

 

Warmth once more- but the pain he was all but begging for was nowhere to be found.

 

He felt the sob rather than heard it, the way it bubbled from him, seizing in his throat like it was choking him. He dropped the coal, grabbing another and squeezing it until his knuckles ached, but still he didn’t burn.

 

The hand that touched his right forearm made him start, nearly knocking the entire brazier over as he spun, coal still in his hand, the air above it rippling from the heat.

 

Missandei looked at him, before looking to the coal, her hands on his forearm like it meant nothing, the lack of prosthetic not fazing her for a second. “Ser Jaime?” she asked gently.

 

Jaime blinked, opening his mouth to respond to her, only to realize he was still holding a fucking burning coal in his hand. He dropped it back on the pile quickly and Missandei reached out, those gentle hands of hers pulling his left hand to her. Turning his hand over gently, she looked at his palm, before looking back up to him.

 

“Let’s get you back to your rooms, Ser.” she said gently, one hand moving up to his right elbow, gently pushing him into movement, her other returning to rest on his forearm as he flexed his left hand again.

 

Jaime nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you-” he said quickly, his voice shaking some.

 

Had anyone touched his right arm since he’d lost his hand? The way she had handled it without care- it was such a far cry from what he was used to.

 

He blinked some, surprised to find his lashes were wet, lifting his hand to wipe at his cheeks impatiently.

 

“I didn’t burn.” he said after a moment.

 

Missandei looked to him, before taking a deep breath.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

\----

 

“Is he alright?” Daenerys asked sharply, turning to look at Missandei, wearing only her nightgown.

 

The woman gave a short nod, before hesitating, shaking her head, contradicting herself. “He was holding a burning coal and crying, your Grace. He’s not  _ burnt _ , but I can’t answer as to if he’s alright.”

 

Daenerys gave a nod to that, picking up the hem of her gown, already moving for the door.

 

“Your Grace?” Missandei interrupted. “Perhaps you’d like a dress?”

 

The woman blinked, before looking down and sighing. “The Dothraki don’t mind the sight of the naked body nearly as much as everyone else seems to.” she said bitterly, nodding and moving forward, impatiently pulling her dressing gown off, letting Missandei help her back into the dress she’d  _ just  _ changed out of.

 

\----

 

When Jaime heard the knock at the door, he blinked, looking up at the wood without saying anything.

 

Who would be visiting him this late at night?

 

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady, wiping at his cheeks firmly and hoping that would do well enough to hide that he’d been crying.

 

The knock repeated, just as gentle and slow as the first set of raps, and Jaime was glad that whoever it was didn’t mind the wait as he slowly approached.

 

He reached first with his right, before frowning and quickly switching hands, tugging the door open.

 

Daenerys stood there, the light of the torches dancing across her hair, like a halo of fire around her face. Her long hair was draped over her shoulders and hanging mussed, pleated from the braids she’d taken out only moments ago, worry clear on her face as she stepped inside the room, letting him close the door behind her.

 

“I heard what happened.” she said gently.

 

Jaime blinked, watching her, before giving a slight shrug. “It wasn’t nearly as dramatic as it sounds, I assure you.” he deflected quickly. “You needn’t bother yourself. I’m unhurt.”

 

Daenerys hesitated, before sighing some, giving him a sincerely concerned look. “Please, don’t demure. You may not have burned, but you don’t look uninjured.” she said, before motioning to the door to the balcony. “Fresh air often helps me when I’m upset. Perhaps it will help you as well?”

 

He had no fucking idea what to think of her, staring at her for a long moment, before nodding. “Of course.” he agreed cautiously. Was his immunity to fire something that upset her? He could see how threatening it could be to her claim. He’d understand if she wasn’t pleased with this information.

 

Daenerys led him out to the balcony, standing straight and looking up to the stars, her hands coming to rest on the balcony.

 

“I can’t imagine what living with our father was like.” she said after a moment, breaking the silence between them. Jaime looked to her quickly, feeling his heart beating in his throat.

 

“Your-” he broke off, taking a deep breath. “Daenerys?” he asked.

 

She looked to him, giving him a thin smile at the way he corrected himself. “I’ve heard stories.” she admitted. “Asked about him, from a few people. Ser Barristan has been a bit enlightening to speak to.”

 

Jaime swallowed hard, and he exhaled slowly, reaching up to grip the banister hard, the edge of the stone hurting his hand more than the fire had.

 

He wasn’t sure what to say.

 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to speak of him. If you still hate him. Just because he was your father by blood, doesn’t mean you are like him, Jaime.”

 

Her words struck him, and he turned quickly, staring at her openly, his lips parted in surprise. “What?” he asked, his voice breathless. “I- I didn’t hate him, not at the time. I had no love for him, that’s true, but he- he had this talent, to manipulate you. To make you think he wasn’t as horrible as the things he did, until the next time he was.”

 

Daenerys didn’t speak, watching him as Jaime struggled for words.

 

When he finally spoke, she could feel her heart breaking, her shoulders dipping under the weight of his words.

 

“I wanted to. But I… I couldn’t. He made it impossible to, and it’s just- the way he got into your head-” Jaime squeezed his eyes shut, leaning forward against the railing, his neck breath shaking and harsh. “I thought- I had hoped, that killing him would feel just. Would feel right.”

 

He shook his head some. “I tell myself that this was for everyone else- I had  _ saved  _ people. But- even as I did it. Ever since I did it… it felt  _ cowardly _ . I did it for me, no one else in the moment. I  _ wanted _ to kill him.”

 

“Perhaps if I had hated him more, killing him wouldn’t make me feel so  _ dirty _ .”

 

She didn’t think as she reached out, her hand touching his bicep, giving a gentle squeeze, before taking a step closer, her other coming up to cup the side of his face gently.

 

“I don’t know the exact circumstance of it.” she said softly. “You don’t  _ have  _ to tell me what happened. But you aren’t  _ dirty _ for it. Our father was a horrible man, even if you did it for yourself, for personal vengeance, you didn’t do wrong.”

 

Jaime took a deep breath, staring at her, seeing the way her violet eyes were so bright, her lower lashes wet with tears she’d yet to shed. Reaching up, he mimicked her pose as best he could, cupping the side of her face gently.

 

Had  _ anyone _ ever told him that killing Aerys was the right thing to do?

 

He honestly couldn’t remember a single time, a single person, who had ever spoken those words aloud to him. Perhaps a few of them thought it, he knew that Tyrion had never thought him  _ wrong  _ for it, but that was a far different thing.

 

His thumb drew across Daenerys’s cheek gently, feeling a single tear wet his skin.

 

“Thank you.” he said softly, before letting his hand fall away, fighting hard not to lean into her touch. She was so comforting, so warm and gentle- but he couldn’t let himself even start to think of her like that. He couldn’t be running to her arms every time he got upset.

 

She had far more important things to do than to coddle him.

 

Daenerys nodded, drawing her hand away from his face, letting the moment fade as she looked back out to the stars above them, her other hand still lingering on his arm. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked after a moment. “You don’t have to be alone, you know.”

 

Jaime blinked, before shaking his head some. “I should try to sleep.” he said. “Again- thank you, Daenerys. I wish I could explain how much this helped.”

 

She smiled, nodding a bit. Her hand trailed down his arm, goosebumps racing along his skin and down his spine. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she finally pulled away. “Sleep well, brother.” she said softly, before turning, walking to the door.

 

Jaime watched her leave, his heart hammering in his throat. He heard the slight creak as she opened the door, and he called out quickly, before she was gone. “Goodnight, sister.”

 

Daenerys turned, looking at him, before smiling openly, her eyes dancing some. She nodded and shut the door behind her, leaving him alone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING WARNING WARNING  
> There is discussion of: Past Rape, Torture, Violent Deaths and mention of CSA in this chapter! Some are rather graphic, so PLEASE be careful with yourselves! <3

“What was her name?” Daenerys asked, swallowing hard as she turned to look at Missandei, wringing her hands together.

 

“Zala, your Grace- she was three.”

 

Daenerys took a shuddering breath, closing her eyes, trying to erase the image of that burned child from her mind. “No one has seen Drogon?” she asked.

 

“He was last seen flying past the Black Cliffs, your Grace. No one has seen him in three days.” Missandei sounded unsure. She hated seeing Daenerys like this.

 

Nodding some, Daenerys turned to her, before swallowing hard. “I need someone to fetch anchor chains from the harbor. And metal collars made. Secure them in the catacombs- I won’t have another child’s bones laid at my feet.”

 

\----

 

Daenerys was beside herself as she walked back into the Pyramid from the catacombs, wiping at the tears on her cheeks absently.

 

She could hear the dragons crying for her still, the way that the sound had muffled when the heavy slab sealed the entrance. She took a deep, shaking breath as she climbed the stairs, looking up, seeing Jaime there.

 

The man swallowed hard, taking her in, before stepping to the side, offering his good hand to her.

 

“Do you want to be alone?” he asked gently, leading her inside.

 

Daenerys gave a soft breathless laugh, her voice ragged as she spoke. “I don’t know.” she admitted aloud. “They sounded terrified. They didn’t understand.”

 

Jaime nodded a bit, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry.” he murmured. “I know how it feels to-”

 

Daenerys’s hand tightened on his, taking a shaking breath. “You don’t know.” she snapped, cutting him off. “They’re my children- you can’t possibly know what it’s like to seal your children away-”

 

She cut herself off when she felt Jaime flinch, looking to the man, seeing the way he was cautiously staring forward instead of daring to look at her. “I didn’t mean to offend, your Grace.” he said woodenly.

 

Stopping outside the door to her private chambers, Jaime released her hand. “Would you like me to call on Missandei for you?”

 

Hesitating, Daenerys swallowed, before nodding some. “Thank you, Ser Jaime.” she said softly, before pushing open the door to her bedroom, shutting it quickly. Gods, seeing the way that Jaime had just shut down like that… she felt beyond guilty.

 

She shouldn’t have taken her hurt out on him.

 

Standing near the couch in her room, she spun the ring on her finger, before pulling it off, setting it down on the short table there. Her necklace and bracelet joined it, that guilt only growing the longer she stood there.

 

Reaching up to pull the pin from her braids, she looked to the door again before taking a deep breath. She went to take a step forward when she heard a knock, making her freeze as Missandei called out to her. “Your Grace?” she asked. “Would you like help getting ready for bed?”

 

Daenerys thought it over a moment, going to the door, opening it for the woman. “Not tonight, thank you.” she hesitated, before looking to her. “Have we had word from Daario?” she asked after a moment.

 

Missandei shook her head a bit. “Not yet, your Grace.”

 

She nodded. “Thank you, Missandei. Enjoy your night.” she said, before shutting the door and sighing some.

 

Leaning against the oak for a long moment, she closed her eyes, one hand still on the door handle.

 

Her grip tightened, about to pull it open, to race to Jaime and apologize- instead, she huffed a breath out, forcing herself away from the door, headed for her bed.

 

\----

 

Jaime was missing from breakfast the next morning, drawing a pause from Daenerys when she entered the room, seeing the table empty but for her own place.

 

She looked to Missandei who hesitated and shook her head.

 

“Ser Jaime decided to take breakfast in his rooms today. He said he was feeling unwell.” she explained softly.

 

Swallowing hard, Daenerys moved to the table, her fingers brushing along the edge of it.

 

Something inside her wanted to turn away, to race to Jaime’s quarters and ask to eat with him there but- she pressed her lips together, taking her seat at the table.

 

\----

 

The knock to his door made Jaime pause, sitting on the edge of his bed, only half dressed. Looking to his false hand, sitting ignored on the nightstand, he sighed, before forcing himself to stand. When he opened the door, he blinked to see Daenerys there.

 

Moving aside, he motioned her into the room.

 

“Your Grace.” he greeted, shutting the door after her.

 

Daenerys looked to him, before tilting her chin up some. “We spoke of this, Jaime.” she said, half teasing. “It’s Daenerys when we’re alone.”

 

Jaime offered her a weak smile, and nodding some. “My apologies, Daenerys.” he said, before looking down at himself, and quickly moving for a shirt. “I should have dressed-”

 

Waving it off with one hand, Daenerys shook her head. “Next to no one in my Khalasar wears shirts if they don’t have to, Jaime. Your torso doesn’t offend me.” she promised him.

 

He froze at that statement, chuckling a bit. “I suppose that’s true.” he said, before rubbing at his scarred wrist some, making instead for his prosthetic. “What can I do for you?”

 

Daenerys gave him a gentle smile. “Missandei said you didn’t feel well. I came to check on you.”

 

He returned the smile, pulling the straps into place with one hand, bracing the gilded steel against his thigh. “You didn’t have to worry yourself. I slept poorly, beyond that, I’m fine.”

 

She gave a slight nod, glancing down to the buckle he was fumbling over.

 

Would it offend if she offered her help?

 

He certainly looked like he hadn’t slept at all, let alone well. There were dark circles around his eyes, his short hair mussed as if he’d been rubbing at it quite a bit.

 

Taking a seat at the chair near the fireplace, she folded her hands in her lap, just watching him. “I wanted to apologize.” she said finally.

 

Jaime blinked, looking up at her. “You don’t have to.” he started.

 

“I do.” she said firmly. “I was upset. I took my anger out on you. I shouldn’t have- you didn’t deserve it.”

 

That made him pause, swallowing hard, before giving her a thin smile. “You’re already forgiven.” he said.

 

There was a moment of pause, before Jaime spoke again. “You weren’t the reason I didn’t sleep.” he said after a bit.

 

Daenerys blinked, tilting her head some. “May I ask why, then?”

 

Jaime nodded, though he didn’t speak for a long moment.

 

“Aerys.” he admitted after a long moment.

 

Silence took the room, Daenerys watching him, not entirely sure what to say. Should she comfort him? She wasn’t nearly close enough with him that she felt comfortable trying to hug him or anything of the sort.

 

Perhaps he wouldn’t even take comfort in that?

 

She barely knew him.

 

Instead, she swallowed hard to wet her mouth, before speaking. “Tell me.” she said gently.

 

Jaime exhaled hard, shaking his head. “You have more important things than to listen to me recount a nightmare.” he started.

 

Daenerys cut him off before he could continue. “No, Jaime. I don’t. You’re my brother- talk to me.”

 

Making eye contact with her, Jaime hesitated, his lips parting as if he was about to speak, before he gave a short nod and closed his eyes once more.

 

Would she ever stop surprising him?

 

Standing, he moved to the doorway of the balcony, staring out at the morning sky, the bright blue that seemed far too idyllic for him.

 

“Rhaella hated him.” he said after a moment. “They hated each other, but she had reason.” he murmured. “One of my nights there, I was standing guard with Ser Darry, outside Aerys’s rooms. He’d just burned Rickard Stark alive. I can remember it- standing there and watching them pour the wildfire on the tiles around him. The way he screamed, how it smelled-”

 

“The thing they don’t tell you about wildfire- is that you can taste it. On the air. It’s bitter, like swallowing ash and sulfur. I can still  _ taste  _ it.” Jaime took a shuddering breath, biting at his lips. “He had Rickard’s son chained, with a collar around his throat- made him watch. And every time he tried to get closer, to help his father, they would tighten it. I’ll never forget the way he screamed either, or… how he stopped screaming. Gurgling and choking, and then nothing.”

 

Daenerys felt her throat tighten, her hands fisting in her skirt, not saying anything, not wanting to scare him away from continuing.

 

“Aerys loved it. He loved that sort of thing- I remember him grabbing my wrist, pulling me to stand beside him. He was laughing. And he kept repeating, over and over- ‘Look at them, Jaime. Look at them, watch the traitor burn.’” His voice broke, and he shook his head. 

 

“He only ever seemed to want Rhaella around after he’d hurt someone-” he routed back, taking a deep breath. “And that night-”

 

“He called her to his chambers, and I had to stand there and  _ listen _ . She kept screaming, begging him to stop hurting her, for help, and I wanted- I begged to help her and Ser Darry-” he inhaled sharply, his voice shaking. “Ser Darry grabbed my shoulders, and he glared at me, held eye contact with me, and he said no. And I tried to reason with him, I told him that we had sworn oaths to protect the Royal family. That that included Rhaella. That we needed to help her, protect her. And he-”

 

His hand gripped the doorway hard, his knuckles white. “He looked me in the eye and he said ‘Not from him.’”

 

Daenerys was staring at Jaime openly, the horror in her expression, tears painting her cheeks as she watched him. Taking a shuddering breath, Daenerys blinked rapidly, pulling her gaze away from him, staring at her hands as they shook in her lap. “You dreamt of this last night?” she asked softly.

 

Jaime swallowed hard.

 

“Yes.” Jaime murmured, before closing his eyes, forcing himself to breath. “And when I woke- I remembered more. I- I spent the sunrise hearing his laughter. Feeling his hands-” His voice broke and this time he didn’t recover it.

 

Daenerys stood, moving forward to stand beside him, before hesitating, reaching out and touching his wrist gently.

 

Jaime jerked hard, looking to her quickly, before exhaling slowly, turning to her fully. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing the tears off her cheek, ignoring his own.

 

Daenerys stared up at him, before moving forward cautiously. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pulled him close, resting her forehead against his chest.

 

Jaime froze, before biting his lower lip hard, his hand slipping into her hair, tangling in the long locks, closing his eyes and soaking in the affection. “Stay with me for a while?” he asked softly.

 

Daenerys tightened her arms around his waist, her fingertips pressing into his back some. “As long as you need.” she whispered against his chest.


	10. Chapter 10

Pulling his cloak tighter, Jon set his gaze over the forest below him. The winds were biting, they always were at the top of the wall. He’d grown used to it ages ago, but it was clear that Stannis hadn’t.

The man looked unhappy and uncomfortable, standing at the far end of a lookout, his arms crossed behind his back, doing his best to hide the shiver that would occasionally make his shoulders quake.

“You know who rules at Winterfell now?” Stannis asked.

Jon fought back a sigh, looking away uncomfortably. “Roose Bolton.”

“The traitor that plunged a dagger into Robb Stark’s heart.”

Jon’s jaw clenched, he hadn’t needed the reminder.

“Don’t you want to avenge him?”

He should have been expecting that question, taking a deep breath. The cold air cut at his throat, making him grimace just a bit. “I want a great many things, your Grace.”

He wanted his family back, he wanted his home back. He wanted Ygritte back.

Stabbing a man wouldn’t give him any of that.

“But I’m a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch, now.”

Davos spoke up, his hands folded in front of him. “I’ve been talking to your sworn brothers. Many of them love you.”

Jon nodded. “They’re good men.”

“Many don’t.” Jon looked to the side some, swallowing. “You were seen taking the body of a Wildling girl, north of the wall. Why?”

Jon’s stomach was in knots, taking a deep breath.

“It’s where she belonged.” he said, grief trying to claw its way into his voice, doing what he could to force it away. 

“Some of the Night’s Watch feel you have too much affection for the wildlings.” Davos said, as if Jon needed a reminder of that as well.

“They were born on the wrong side of the wall. Doesn’t make them monsters.”

Stannis cut in this time, watching Jon closely. “No, it doesn’t. I shall take back the thieves from the North who stole it- Tywin Lannister is gone. Jaime Lannister fled to the East with the Imp. They’re weak. Unprotected. I shall mount Roose Bolton’s head on a spike. But if I’m to take Winterfell, I need more men.” 

There it was.

“The men of the Night’s Watch are sworn not to-”

“I’m not talking about the damn Night’s Watch.”

Jon stared at him, speechless for a moment.

“You expect the Free Folk to go to war for a Southern King they don’t know?” Jon said with a frown. “The Free People won’t bend the knee to you.”

Stannis frowned. “They bent the knee to Mance. We have to strike fast, and soon, if we’re to secure the North.”

Jon paused, staring at him, digesting those words. He wasn’t sure which was more surprising to him.

“Your Grace, the Free Folk followed Mance because they chose him as their king. They don’t know you.” Jon couldn’t believe what he was hearing, staring at the man. Stannis was bold, he would give him that, but using the free folk as fodder for a siege was-

Stannis huffed some, watching Jon with that critical stare of his. “Then Mance bends the knee, and they follow him.” he reasoned.

“Mance isn’t any more likely to pledge himself than any of his people are.” Jon started. “He fought for them, he won’t-”

Stannis cut him off. “He bends the knee, or he burns at the stake. Convince him, and I’ll pardon his people.”

Jon felt his heart sink at those words, forcing himself not to react outwardly, his hands twitching, wanting to clench at his sides. “How long do I have?”

“Sundown. Best hurry, Jon Snow.”

Jon didn’t waste time, hurrying past him to the elevator, his mind reeling with everything he’d heard. More than half the Lannisters were gone. Their strongest minds were gone- 

Stannis was right, now was the time to strike. With his men, the wildlings, they could honestly stand a chance.

He could take back his old home-

No. 

He couldn’t. This was his home now.

Jon pushed that thought aside, sighing heavily as his hand come up, rubbing at the thick leather strap hidden under his clothes. The tight vest was a nuisance on days like this, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the extra warmth.

Coughing some, he took a deep breath, letting his lungs fill and clenching his jaw a moment.

He’d need to see Aemon again soon, that familiar ache was starting in his chest and gut.

More important things to worry on, right now.

How was he going to get Mance to agree to bending to a King he didn’t know, that he didn’t trust, and march off with his people to the South, fighting someone else’s war?

Of all the impossible tasks he’d been given in his life, this was one he was certain he couldn’t accomplish.

Mance looked up at him when he entered the room, his brows raising some. He was sitting in the light of the sole window, looking out at the sky as best he could. “So here we are.”

Jon gave a short nod. “Here we are.”

“When we first met, you were my prisoner.” Mance started, turning to face him now, his hands in his lap, a rueful smile on his lips. “And now- for our last meeting…”

Jon moved closer, each step feeling like a stone into the pond, his heart heavy.

“This doesn’t have to be our last meeting.” he said, letting his cloak cover his hands.

“No. But it will be.” Mance gave him a knowing look, his face falling to a deep frown once more.

Jon’s throat was tight. Mance knew what he was going to say, what offer had been made, and both knew the other’s answers already. They knew how this conversation was going to end, but it needed to be had.

“You know what Stannis wants.”

“He wants me to bend the knee.” Mance’s flat tone said it all. “And he wants the Free Folk to fight for him.”

He took a deep breath, before looking back to that tiny square of the outside world. “I’ll give him this much- he’s bold.”

“Shouldn’t a king be bold?” Jon asked. He knew his displeasure for the situation was showing on his face. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t avoid it.

“Oh, aye. I respect him.” Mance nodded as he spoke. “If he gets what he wants, I expect he’ll be a better ruler than the fools sitting on the Iron Throne the last hundred years- but I’ll never serve him.”

Jon couldn’t help the smile his words drew from him, giving a soundless chuckle, before the expression fell away again. “You told me you weren’t here to conquer. You told me your people had bled enough-”

“That’s right.” Mance cut in. “I don’t want them bleeding for Stannis Baratheon either.”

“You spent your life, convincing ninety clans to come together for the first time in history-” Jon said, watching him, his dark eyes not leaving Mance’s for a moment. “Thenns and Hornfoots, the Ice River clans. Even the giants. A life’s work, uniting them. You didn’t do it for power. You didn’t do it for glory. You brought them together to save them. None of them will survive the winter, not if they’re north of the wall.”

Mance looked away as Jon continued. “Isn’t their survival more important than your pride?”

That got his attention back, fixing him with that stare of his.

“Pride?”

Mance stood, advancing on Jon, stopping just short of him. “Fuck my pride.” He shook his head solemnly. “This isn’t about that.”

Jon watched as he walked past him, taking in Mance’s back with a sigh. “Then bend the knee.” he demanded. “Save your people.”

Mance put his hand against one of the wooden posts, the thunk of it drawing Jon’s gaze for a moment. “They followed me, because they respected me. Because they believed in me. The moment I kneel for a Southern king, that’s all gone.”

“And how many tens of thousands are out there right now?” Jon pressed, closing the distance between them. “How many women? How many children?” He knew his words affected the man, watching his hand drop from the post, posture defensive and defiant. “And you won’t go out and rescue them, because why? You’re afraid of looking afraid.”

“Oh-” Mance’s tone wasn’t flat any longer, a touch of emotion seeping into it. “I am afraid. No shame in that.”

Jon hadn’t expected that, blinking and sighing out softly, dropping his gaze as he turned that over in his mind.

Mance took a breath as he sat on a crate, watching Jon, taking in his posture. “How will they do it?” He gave a pause, tilting his head to the other side. “Beheading? Hanging?”

Jon closed his eyes a moment, before looking up to him. “They’ll burn you alive.”

Mance’s face went blank, the horror of that thought making him pause, eyes focused on the fur of Jon’s cloak.

“Bad way to go.” he managed finally, looking away.

There was fear in his voice.

His breath shook as he inhaled, before meeting Jon’s eyes again. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t want to die. And burnt to death? I don’t want people to remember me like that. Scorched. And screaming. But it’s better than betraying everything I believe.”

Jon swallowed, nodding a touch, looking away from him.

There was a moment of pain, his chest tight as he watched him. Dying for honor. Just like his father had. Refusing to give up morals and duty for his life.

He could respect that, to a degree.

But what had Ned’s commitment to duty done? Ruined their family, their home. Winterfell burned, his brothers and sisters dead-

“And what happens to your people? You preserve your dignity, and die standing. And they’ll sing songs about you. How you’d rather burn than kneel. A great hero. Until winter comes. And the White Walkers come for us all. And there’s no one left to sing.”

Mance’s jaw clenched, watching him.

There was a moment of silence between them, before Mance spoke again, his voice carrying far too much understanding.

“You’re a good lad. Truly, you are. But if you can’t understand why I won’t enlist my people in a foreigner’s war, there’s no point explaining.”

Jon’s stomach was tight. He knew what that meant. What was coming next.

He sighed, before moving to the door, pounding on it twice to be let out. The door swung open behind him, and he paused, looking to Mance, trying one last time. “I think you’re making a terrible mistake.”

Mance gave a humorless laugh.

“The freedom to make my own mistakes was all I ever wanted.”

Jon watched him, making eye contact, before the both of them broke it, Jon turning and leaving, the door to the cell closing behind him with a decisive thud.


	11. Chapter 11

Barristan watched Daenerys as she stood in the light, soaking in the sun like a cat. Smiling a bit, he waited to hear why he had been called there.

 

“I can’t have children.” she said after a moment, turning and looking to him, frowning some. “The dragons are my only children, the only children I’ll ever have. I didn’t think I had family left- until now.” 

 

“Ah.” Barristan kept his eyes on her, watching as she waited for him to speak. “You’re asking my opinion of Jaime?”

 

Daenerys gave a slight nod, urging him to continue. “You told me of his past before, of our father. Now I want to know more about him.” 

 

Selmy thought over where to start, his fingers pressing against the table as he thought. “He’s known as Oathbreaker by the people who don’t call him Kingslayer. One of the best swordsmen I’ve ever met. He hasn’t lost a Tourney in quite some time.”

 

“Anyone in Westeros could have told me that. You’ve already told me most of that.” Daenerys said, raising a brow some.”I don’t want that sort of information- if I name him Prince, how would he react? Do you think he’d be a good one?”

 

Barristan shifted, before speaking. “He took the throne, after Aerys. In a sense. No crown or title, nothing official.” he said. “There was a period of time, between when Aerys was killed, and Robert arrived, where Jaime gave the commands. Tywin counseled him, but Jaime had the final say. After all, who would trust the man that just sacked the city? People knew Jaime already. He had the soldiers clearing rubble, tents set up to offer food and aid to those in need. He was a good leader. He didn’t like it- he didn’t want it. When Robert arrived, he stepped down without a fight.”

 

He hesitated, before continuing. “He shouldn’t have. He has his flaws, as does every man. He can be reckless, if someone he cares for is threatened. Far too loyal sometimes. When Queen Cersei gave birth, he dropped everything. Her first child- he was on a patrol route, as ordered, when the news of her labor came. He didn’t ask, he charged right off, forced his way into the birthing chamber and held her hand the entire time.”

 

“She’s his sister. I can understand the concern.”

 

That drew a laugh from him, but he didn’t explain the joke to Daenerys, continuing on instead. “He doesn’t think highly enough of himself, no matter how he acts or jokes.” he said. “But he knows how to put that aside to accomplish what he’s asked to. I don’t see him being a king, not as he is now- but he could be a prince, and in time, he could be a king.”

 

Daenerys considered that, turning the thought over in her mind, before nodding.

 

“I want him to join us, during our next small council meetings. He’s my brother, and he knows Westeros. He should be included in my decisions.”

 

Barristan nodded, standing and bowing. “As you wish, your Grace.” he said.

 

He moved to leave, and Daenerys hesitated, before calling out to him, making him paused.

 

“When Aerys took him-” she asked, “Did he hurt Jaime?”

 

The man frowned, before nodding. “Yes, your Grace. He did.”

 

\----

 

Jaime entered the room, looking to the others at the table before moving forward, taking a seat beside Selmy. The man gave him a brief smile, before looking back to Daenerys.

 

“Small council.” Jaime said, half joking, and Daenerys gave him a knowing smile.

 

It was one of those expressions he loved. Like she knew far more than you, and was enjoying the joke with you nonetheless.

 

“Small council.” she agreed, before looking to Missandei and Grey Worm. “I heard there was more vandalism- Sons of the Harpy once more?”

 

Missandei nodded. “There are whispers about the group. I don’t have much information. They seem to be supporting the Old Masters, and ask for the return of slavery.”

 

Daenerys frowned. “Do we know who funds them?”

 

“No, your Grace.”

 

Jaime frowned, rubbing at the metal of his hand absently, the engravings giving him something to keep from fidgeting too obviously. “Do they have support from the people?” he asked, tilting his head.

 

Grey Worm looked to him, those serious eyes of his taking the man in. “No.” he said decisively.

 

Missandei swallowed, before sighing some. “I don’t believe so, but we can’t know for certain. They’re being rather secretive.”

 

Massador shook his head some. “No one I have spoken to supports them.” he said, frowning a bit. “There are those that speak of hardships now, but I do not believe they would go so far as to want the old ways back.”

 

Daenerys pursed her lips some. “There’s not much we can do but wait until they make a move, then.” she said mournfully. “We can’t act against shadows.”

 

Grey Worm looked sour at that thought, giving a slow exhale.

 

Jaime recognized that look, at least. Grey Worm was a man of action, he didn’t want to wait for cowards to slink out of the shadows long enough to be cut down. Jaime had never liked it either, but they didn’t have much choice all together.

 

The meeting dragged on for Jaime, sitting there and listening for the most part, not weighing in on quite a few things.

 

He didn’t know the state of the city, the people, their temperaments or needs, what resources they had available- the best he could do for Daenerys right now, was to listen and learn.

 

The other councilors had smart ideas, good advice, but he was already seeing a flaw.

 

When the others left, he stayed behind, Daenerys turning to look at him with an arched brow. “You didn’t have much to say.”

 

Jaime shrugged some. “I had more to learn.”

 

She paused, her brow furrowing some. “Oh?”

 

“I’m Westerosi, Daenerys. I don’t know what the people of Essos want or need. I’ve never been a slave, or a master. I’m a swordsman and a noble. I can’t really offer advice without taking the time to learn the situation. Father used to call it learning the pieces, before putting them on the board.”

 

“Ser Barristan said that you took the throne after Aerys’s death- why didn’t you keep it?” She asked. “Your father would have supported your claim. He had the men and money to back it.”

 

Jaime blinked at the abrupt change in conversation, having to take a moment for his mind to switch gears, shifting uneasily.

 

“I don’t want the throne. I didn’t really  _ take _ it, so much as stepped in. No one else was doing what needed to be done for the city-” Jaime started.

 

“Your father was Hand for some time, why didn’t he take it?”

 

Jaime blinked. He’d never… put much thought into that, actually. His throat seized, and he clenched his hand some, trying to force away that dull ache in his chest. “I don’t know my father’s reasoning. You’d have to ask him, but unfortunately, he’s dead.”

 

Daenerys looked him over, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry.” she offered. “Were you close?”

 

Jaime gave her a weak smile, before looking away. He was silent for some time, before speaking. “As close as anyone could be with Tywin Lannister, I suppose. We didn’t see eye to eye on much, but he was my father, and I loved him.”


	12. Chapter 12

“How is he?”

 

The voice was familiar but distant, leaving him straining to hear, to understand. Who was speaking?

 

“Actually, your Grace- we do need to speak of that. You see- well, when we were dressing her wounds we discovered…”

 

“Her?”

 

“That’s the thing, your Grace- he… is a  _ she. _ ”

 

“That can’t be.”

 

“I’m sorry, your Grace- but it’s true.”

 

Biting down on his lip hard, he sat up, he forced himself not to groan, not to draw any attention to himself beyond that of the man he saw across the room, just out of sight of the Queen and her disgraced Maester.

 

The lieutenant looked at the pair, before shifting and giving a short, discreet nod.

 

Tywin heard the doors shut as Cersei and the Maester left, for whatever they had plans to do. Most likely she was running straight to Tommen, to make demands of the boy. Taking a shuddering breath, he put his hand out to the Lannister man that came to support him. “Where are my clothes?” he demanded. “I need a great service of you, and no time can be wasted, do you understand me?”

 

The lieutenant swallowed hard, and nodded. “Anything… my  _ Lord. _ ” he said.

 

Tywin closed his eyes at that, swallowing hard, grateful that his men were so loyal. “I need the ten most loyal and trusted of my men that you can find. A pack of clothing, and the small red chest from my rooms. Waste no time. You have an hour. And then we leave for the docks.”

 

The man nodded, handing his clothing over, before rushing from the room, to do as he was bid.

 

\----

 

It had been a pain, slipping through the halls while still so injured, hiding his fine clothing beneath a heavy cloak, his men moving with him, carrying only what they could spare.

 

Tywin had a decent amount of coin on him, but he knew well that he’d need to ration it. There hadn’t been news from Essos for some time, still searching for a hint of what had happened to his sons, but Jaime would have seen his hair by now.

 

There was only one place that he would go.

 

He’d debated the thought of going to Casterly, of calling his bannermen back, cloistering and outwaiting a siege- but he couldn’t fight a war on three sides without the support of the crown. He had no promise his bannermen would fall to once they knew the lie they had been told for so long.

 

And now Tywin needed asylum, just as much as the both of his children had.

 

Cersei had made it very clear how she had been chafing under his rule of the family. He wouldn’t put it past her to retaliate now that she thought them on equal footing, and certainly not when he would be subject to the fallout from this reveal.

 

He would have to hope that Daenerys was far more forgiving a ruler than her father had been, or that at the very least- she would be willing to listen to Jaime.

 

The boat carrying silks was there, Tywin had spoken to her captain only a week ago, to procure silks for Tommen’s wedding. He remembered the dark red silk, with the fine orange leaves that had been stitched across it.

 

He had thought that Tyrion would look fine in it.

 

He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching, before he moved forward, the captain recognizing him, his brow furrowing in concern at the state Tywin was in.

 

“My Lord- what can I do for you?”

 

“I need passage. You sail to Lys next, yes? My men and I need to reach Meereen. I can pay passage for the eleven of us, if you can direct me to a trusted Captain when we land in Lys.”

 

The man looked him and his over, before nodding. “I can do you one better. I can get you there, my Lord. We have a shipment of spices to pick up from Lys, that we sail to Meereen after we drop the silks off.”

 

Tywin offered his hand, clasping forearms with him. “You have my gratitude.”

 

The captain laughed at that. “And your coin.”

 

“Are they two separate concepts now?” Tywin joked, releasing his grip, and moving onto the ship before he was seen.

 

\----

 

Three weeks, after the stops and delays in Lys, and the additional delay of avoiding Old Valyria. Sailing with severe injuries had  _ not _ been a pleasant thing, let alone for more nearly a month. Now, somewhat healed and still very sore, Tywin stood on the deck of the ship, seeing the Pyramid of Meereen looming into view.

 

He only hoped he knew his son half as well as he thought he did.

 

He looked to the side to his lieutenant- now his guard captain, and sighed openly. “Our things are ready?”

 

“Yes, my Lord. As are our men.”

 

Tywin took a moment, taking in the sight of the shore before them. The piers were busy, filled with both men handling cargo, and people selling their wares to those with coin to spare. He didn’t see much in the normal fare one would expect for such a large city-state.

 

They must be keeping things rather locked down until the city was more stable, under Daenerys’s rule.

 

Hearing the sailors calling out to ready the landing boat, he pulled away from the rail and nodded. It was time to go.

 

When he was finally on solid ground, Tywin took a deep breath, feeling the way it pulled at the new scar tissue on his chest, twinging his ribs. If it had been a mere inch to the right, he wouldn’t be standing here now.

 

Shouldering the lightest pack of his things, he gave a nod to his captain, ignoring his offer to carry his things for him. They had no horses, and the men were following him in what armor they could afford to wear in such heat.

 

He wouldn’t burden them with more.

 

“It will be a long walk to the pyramid, I assume.” he said, shaking his head some.

 

“Shall I find a horse for you, my Lord?”

 

“Not just yet. If we’re turned away, we will need money for lodging. I rather test the situation before I ration our coin.” he explained, setting up the road. “Walking won’t kill us today.”

 

\----

 

“I’m sorry, you’re changing my title to  _ what _ ?” Jaime asked, staring at Daenerys, who looked far too amused by the entire situation.

 

“You’re my brother. Our father was King. That makes you a Prince, Jaime. I have no children, I will never have children. Unless that somehow changes, you’re next in line, whether you like it or not. You  _ are  _ Prince Jaime.” She told him, fighting a grin and failing.

 

Jaime blinked rapidly, only to snort and shake his head. Taking a deep breath, he sighed. “Gods- I can’t get out of this one, can I?” he asked.

 

“No, your Highness. Her Grace seems to be rather adamant.” Missandei said, a great deal of amusement laced through her words.

 

Jaime groaned at the honorific.

 

There was a knock on the door, and Daenerys looked to it curiously. “Come in.” she called.

 

“Your Grace, there’s a man at the gates, requesting an audience with his Highness.” the Unsullied who entered explained.

 

Daenerys blinked. “Did they give a name?” she asked.

 

“Lord Lannister, your Grace.”

 

Jaime’s face lit up. “It must be Tyrion. He’s late.” he said standing and tugging his shirt into place. “He was supposed to be here only a week after I arrived. It’s been almost two now.”

 

Daenerys smiled a bit, nodding. “I’m glad he’s here. After the stories you’ve told me, I’m glad to finally meet him.”

 

Jaime didn’t waste time, half running to the audience room, wishing that the guards had seen Tyrion to a more private place for their reunion and meeting. Entering, he froze, seeing the Lannister guards, before setting eyes on the man waiting, staring for a long moment, trying to understand-

 

“Father?” he choked out, his voice strained and breathless. “Tyrion said-”

 

Suddenly Jaime felt far too aware of how he must look. His short hair a shock of silver, offsetting his false hand, the prosthetic barely hidden away past the loose, billowing sleeves of his sheer undershirt, a simple cropped red leather vest holding tight to his chest. Even his pants were different, tight and tailored the way he liked, but they were lower on his hips, decorative laces on the sides. It wasn’t anything he would have worn in Westeros, Seven Hells, it was borderline Dothraki wear- it wouldn’t have been  _ proper _ to wear something like this there, but here it helped with the heat.

 

Did he even  _ look _ like a Lannister right now?

 

Tywin looked up to the man, taking in his hair, the way he was dressed, swallowing to wet his tongue before speaking. “He’s not as good a shot as he thought.” he said finally. “Is there a private place we can speak?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Never let it be said I'm not Tywin Trash uwu


	13. Chapter 13

“Let me ask simply, my Lord- why are you here?” Daenerys demanded, turning to look at him, her eyes hard.

 

Tywin’s jaw flexed some, taking in her glare evenly. “My injury brought some complications. It was no longer safe for me to stay in Westeros.”

 

“Funny, for a family in power, Westeros seems to be rather dangerous for Lannisters. First your two sons, and now you.” 

 

Tywin inhaled slowly. Jaime knew that little tell of his, he was fighting not to bite back. It was the same slow inhale he had always used when he felt that Jaime or Tyrion were being ornery.

 

“Your Grace-” Tywin started. “If I had stayed in Westeros, death would have been the  _ kindest  _ of outcomes for my situation. I am not here to make demands of you. I am here to offer you my support and counsel.”

 

Daenerys’s lip curled some. “So you’re not here to see your son?” she asked.

 

The comment cut at Tywin, looking to Jaime.

 

Jaime’s jaw flexed, and he looked down, swallowing hard. “Your Grace, my father is a talented strategist, a decorated general. His counsel would be-”

 

“I’m not asking about the quality of his counsel, Jaime. I’m asking him to tell me his reasoning for coming to me.” She looked to Tywin. “Or did you think I had forgotten what the orders of Lord Tywin Lannister were? That you had your men murder my niece and nephew, to  _ rape and murder  _ my sister by law?”

 

Her words were sharp, her tone dangerous.

 

But she wasn’t nearly as like her father as Tywin had feared.

 

He let the moment hang, hoping he could find the right words to speak. “Your Grace- Ser Gregor Clegane acted under my name, on orders from Robert. I did not order the method of death, or Elia’s rape. As his Lord, I take the blame for his actions, but I do not condone them.”

 

“Interesting that before now, I’ve never heard of you condemning them.”

 

“Do you think that would have bought me any favor with King Robert?” Tywin asked flatly.

 

Daenerys blinked, frowning at him. “You hide behind a dead king, to excuse your actions?”

 

“I am not hiding.” Tywin said firmly. “I did not, nor have I ever condoned rape. I am the  _ last  _ person in any land that would  _ ever _ . What happened to Elia was dishonorable and disgusting. But I have a family. I have to protect them. Condemning his actions when Robert took delight in them- it would _not_ have bought his favor. My children were and always will be my first concern.”

 

Jaime’s head snapped up, turning and staring openly at Tywin, his hand coming out, bracing on the war table. Had he ever heard Tywin speak with so much anger?

 

Swallowing hard, he looked to Daenerys. She seemed to be considered Tywin’s words, not speaking just yet.

 

“Father-” he said finally, almost flinching when they both looked to him. “Why did you leave Westeros? What was so dangerous?”

 

Tywin took a deep breath, swallowing hard and looking away.

 

Gods, did he look  _ nervous _ ? It was odd, seeing his Father looking anything but confident and cool. What could have possibly happened?

 

“When I was injured, they cut my clothing from my body.” he said finally. “And the Maester told both Cersei and Tommen of my breasts. Had I stayed, they would have forced me to live as Lady Joanna Lannister. I would rather  _ die _ than live like that again.”

 

The room was silent for what felt like forever.

 

Joanna-

 

Jaime couldn’t breathe. He was trying to piece that thought process together, to understand exactly what his father was saying. “I-  _ what _ ?”

 

Daenerys’s brow furrowed, looking over the man. “You don’t look like a woman.” she said flatly.

 

Tywin looked to her. “I am not a woman.”

 

Daenerys frowned, before tilting her chin up. “Very well then, you’re a man. This will take a bit of explaining however- I was under the impression that Joanna Lannister died in childbirth.”

 

Tywin nodded some. “She died three days before I gave birth to Tyrion. With the timing of it, I had nothing else I could say.”

 

Jaime made a soft noise, taking a step back, dropping into the chair behind him. “How?” he asked, looking to Tywin.

 

Tywin looked to him, swallowing hard. “She fell from her horse. The wound festered, despite being seen too. The fever took her.”

 

Jaime gave a dazed nod, putting his hand over his mouth, swallowing hard. “When- when you said you were the last person to condone…” he said, before closing his eyes. “Aerys?” he asked, his voice cracking.

 

Tywin’s hand clenched hard on the edge of the table, jaw flexing. “Yes.”

 

Daenerys looked to him, her eyes widening some. “He forced himself on you?” she asked, realization settling in her veins like ice. “And you were his Hand for how long?”

 

She sounded horrified.

 

Tywin swallowed hard. “My wedding night.” he said softly. “I realized I was pregnant not long after that. I had already been acting as Hand for years, but somehow I don’t think he realized- I used to wear my hair long, so that if we had to, Joanna and I could switch clothing. So no one who knew our faces well would realize we had traded places.”

 

Jaime took a deep breath, swallowing hard. “Why did you keep us?” he asked softly. “You didn’t have to.”

 

His mind was racing, drawing up memories from so long ago- Rhaella’s handmaidens had said she’d looked like she’d been mauled by a _ beast _ . Jaime had seen that. The bruises and bites on her neck, not to mention what might lay beneath her clothes.

 

His hand fell to his thigh without thinking, pressing to a scar there, one he often pretended he didn’t have.

 

To think of his father enduring-

 

Tywin frowned. “You are my son. Cersei is my daughter. I would  _ never _ say otherwise.”

 

Daenerys looked to Jaime, seeing the look on his face before holding up her hand. “Enough.” she said. “We can discuss the rest of this another time. You may stay, Lord Lannister.” she said, watching him. “But please keep in mind what happens to those who betray a Targaryen. Jaime is my brother. Should you harm him-”

 

Tywin frowned. “Why would I-”

 

“I know  _ exactly _ why Tyrion and Jaime felt the need to leave Westeros, my Lord. Don’t test me by denying it.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thank you so much for reading my fic! I'm still writing it, and trying to get it out on time - Wednesdays and Saturdays! I hate to ask, but I could really use comments on this fic! I want to make sure that I'm doing well, especially as it is my first long fic, and my first time writing Game of Thrones! Even if you just drop a quick "____ chapter" it'd really give me a boost of encouragement!

Jaime was still in shock, sitting in a chair by the balcony, staring at the stone of the floor. If he stared long enough, he might be able to see the patterns of the stone slabs when he closed his eyes. It would be far better than the image of Aerys his mind kept offering him, the thought of that man touching his father the way he had-

 

He cut that thought off.

 

No.

 

He couldn’t think on that again. He refused to.

 

Hadn’t he been saying he wanted answers? His first response to seeing his hair was to say that he needed to write Father. And now here Tywin was, and Jaime couldn’t bring himself to speak to the man.

 

A hand touched his right arm and he jerked hard, his breath catching as he looked to Daenerys.

 

She looked worried for him, frowning as she watched him. “Jaime-” she said ever so gently. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

 

Jaime blinked rapidly, before taking a deep breath, giving a slight shake of his head. “I’m fine. Just a touch overwhelmed. I need a little bit to take in everything.”

 

Daenerys nodded. “Understandable. You just had quite a shock.”

 

Jaime snorted some, shaking his head a bit. “I’ve had a  _ few _ . In rapid succession.” he half joked, drawing a slight smile from her. He looked up at her, wanting to reach out, to cup her cheek like he had the other night-

 

He didn’t let himself, drawing back instead, covering her hand with his own, before guiding it away. “Thank you for the concern, Daenerys. I promise, I’m fine.”

 

She watched him a moment, before nodding. “Come to me if that changes.” she said. “That was all rather dramatic.”

 

“I almost feel as if that’s an understatement.” Jaime said, before sighing and heading out of the room, aware of her eyes on him as he retreated. He should really go speak to Tywin.

 

\----

 

He wasn’t sure how long he stood outside the heavy wooden door, studying the grain, the way the dark stain pooled in the grooving of the panels. It was certainly a well made door.

 

He sighed, knowing that he wasn’t here to inspect the quality of the doors.

 

Tywin’s suite was rather near his own. It was both comforting and intimidating, knowing he’d have to pass his father every time he retreated to his own room.

 

Reaching out, Jaime knocked finally, the sound not nearly as confident as he’d like. Two soft knocks, half aborted, before he managed a solid rap.

 

“Come in.”

 

That was the voice he knew, that he’d always loved. Tywin was so strong, so even- when everything in the world shifted, his father had always been the one thing he could count on. Even when he was under Aerys’s thumb- it was the mere thought of his father, his strength-

 

He had recited it every night, silently. Again, and again in his head.

 

He had to live, he had to survive. The list grew with every person he cared for.

 

_ Tywin. Cersei. Tyrion.  _ That had been was pulled him through his years with the Mad King. Shortly after that, under the near constant abuse from Robert, the list had slowly grown.  _ Tywin. Cersei. Tyrion. Jeoffry. Myrcella. Tommen.  _

 

Even now it still grew.

 

_ Tywin. Cersei. Tyrion. Myrcella. Tommen. Brienne. Daenerys. Missandei. _

 

How many more would he add? 

 

His list was not only his strength, it was his responsibilities.

 

Pushing open the door, Jaime slipped into the rooms, seeing Tywin standing at the desk, looking over the spines of the few books he’d brought with himself, opening one of them, looking over an inscription written on the front leaf. When the door closed, Tywin looked up, turning to face Jaime.

 

Jaime swallowed, before moving forward, motioning to the bed. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, not wanting to bother his father to move the two packs of things he’d brought with him, set in the couch just inside the door.

 

Tywin nodded, motioning to the bed. “Of course.” he said. “You look well, Jaime.”

 

Jaime instant reached up, rubbing at his hair. “I thought you dead.” he said, not wanting to beat around the bush. “I’ve been mourning you, Father.”

 

Tywin swallowed hard, watching him. Taking a deep breath, he gave a nod. “I’m sorry. If I could have contacted you sooner, I would have.”

 

Jaime nodded some. “I just-” he gripped the edge of the mattress hard, the sheets bunching up in his fist. “I watched my  _ son  _ die. I thought my brother was going to- This entire trip, every time something went wrong, or I didn’t know what to do, my first thought was to ask you for help. And then I would remember that you were gone and I couldn’t-”

 

Tywin’s hands clenched on the book he was holding, gripping it with both hands to avoid them shaking. “You must know I had no wish to harm Tyrion, Jaime. If you had stayed-”

 

“Do I?” he asked, cutting his father off. It was a dangerous action, but he didn’t want to discuss what ifs. “Tyrion is just as much your son as I am- more so than I am, apparently. You have  _ never _ treated him the same as you treat me.” he said, looking up to meet Tywin’s gaze. “He may be a dwarf, but Tyrion is  _ twice  _ the man I could ever be. He should have been named your heir years ago.” 

 

His father didn’t respond, watching him in silence. Why wasn’t Tywin saying anything?

 

Jaime refused to dwell on that. He had  _ never _ stood up to the man like this, had always bit his tongue and nodded, and murmured ‘yes, Father’ like a mantra.

 

“I know why you had to leave Westeros, Father, but why did you come  _ here _ ?”

 

Tywin swallowed, before speaking. “Are you done?”

 

Jaime flinched at that, but he refused to break eye contact. 

 

Gods, his heart was pounding in his throat.

 

Tywin moved, setting down the book carefully,  making sure he didn’t slam it down. Instead, he opened the lock on the red chest he’d brought with him. It was small, easily set on the desk, the Lannister seal stamped into the red stained wood.

 

Drawing a scroll off the top of it, he moved forward, offering it to Jaime.

 

The man blinked, before reaching out, taking it and looking at the seal. “This is Tommen’s-” he said softly, before looking back up to him. “What is this?” he asked, not moving to open it just yet.

 

“A pardon.”

 

“A-” Jaime blinked rapidly, looking back down to the scroll. “Is… was this for  _ Tyrion _ ?” he asked, his voice cracking some.

 

Tywin took the scroll back, putting it back into the chest and sealing it again, hiding away the other papers inside, more than a few of them yellowed with age. What were they? “Yes. Tommen and I had several meetings when Cersei had Tyrion arrested. He recused himself so that he would retain the right of Pardon, in case the trial went poorly.”

 

“Went  _ poorly _ ?” Jaime choked out. “They made a fool of him. You heard the lies that they said about him! Cersei paid people to lie! She demanded that I  _ murder  _ him- The entire trial went poorly-- from the moment he was arrested things were going  _ poorly _ !”

 

Tywin sighed some. “He wasn’t supposed to be arrested in the first place. No one could have known that Joffrey would pull such a stunt as making Tyrion his cupbearer.”

 

That made Jaime pause, staring at the man.

 

“You knew.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

Tywin looked up to him, frowning some, before nodding. “Of course I knew.”

 

Jaime’s eyes were wide, staring at his Father. He wasn’t sure what he felt just right now, his heart hammering in his chest, choking on his own breath. “He was my  _ son. _ ” he said, his voice shaking. “You let my son be  _ murdered _ !”

 

To his credit, Tywin looked uncomfortable, bordering on displeased, tilting his chin up some. “He was a monster. Our family is known for killing the Mad King. I was not about to allow the next bear our name!”

 

Jaime recoiled at that.

 

“You helped-” he accused. “Gods-  _ you  _ did it, didn’t you.”

 

Tywin didn’t deny it.

 

He didn’t fucking deny it.

 

Jaime didn’t know what  to think, what to say or do. A sound left him, caught between a whimper and a gasp, some small wounded noise that caught in his throat and stayed there. Normally he would have been horrified for his father to hear that, to see him falling apart like this.

 

He wasn’t crying, that was at least a saving grace. He had cried far too much in the past few weeks.

 

Instead, his breath came hard and fast, too shallow to really count as a breath.

 

He hadn’t even been allowed to hold his son as he died- Cersei had shoved him away, as if he’d had no  _ right _ . 

 

Gods, his father had done this to them.

 

Tywin watched Jaime a short moment, before moving forward, taking a knee before him. “Breathe, Jaime.”

 

Jaime stared at him, not even sure what to say. He was right, Jaime needed to breathe, he felt light headed already. Reaching out, he gripped Tywin’s bicep hard, a physical reminder that his Father was right there, was alive and in front of him.

 

He could think on the rest of it later.

 

“Breathe, Jaime. Five in.” he coached gently, frowning as he reached out, holding Jaime’s shoulders gently. Jaime struggled to do as he asked, his breath stuttering. “Count, Jaime. Five in. One. Two. Three-”

 

Jaime was having trouble connecting this in his mind. The father that was kneeling before him, counting aloud to help him calm down, to catch his breath- and the father that had planned the murder of his grandchild and allowed his own son to be framed for it.

 

How could they be the same man?

 

“Hold.”

 

Jaime followed the instructions, closing his eyes and focusing on Tywin’s voice-  _ only  _ his voice.

 

It was just like when he was younger, when this had first started. Tywin had been the one that taught him to breathe properly, to count and to make his mind go silent so he  _ could _ calm.

 

He latched onto that memory, the recollection of his father guiding him through panic, the gentle and to the point way the man had always managed it.

 

“Out. One. Two. Three-”

 

It took several tries before Jaime was breathing normally, still feeling shaky and overwhelmed. He hated moments like that. It came on so suddenly sometimes, like he was drowning on dry land, his own emotions strangling him.

 

“There you are-” Tywin said gently, watching as Jaime blinked, seeming to see him finally.

 

Jaime nodded weakly, his hand tightening on his arm for just a moment, before taking a deep breath once more, feeling it shudder in his chest. “Sorry-” he murmured.

 

Tywin shook his head. “Don’t apologize.” he said. “Are you alright now?”

 

Jaime gave another nod. “Yes.” He winced when Tywin’s hand came up, closing his eyes quickly, only to feel the man’s fingers brush through his short hair, brushing it back from his forehead gently.

 

“Are you going to grow it out again?” he asked.

 

That startled a laugh from Jaime. Were they really speaking of his hair now? “I don’t know yet. I hadn’t meant to let it get that long to begin with.” he said, before looking up to him. “That shampoo- was it?” he let the question trail off.

 

“Cassia.” Tywin told him. “Mixed with henna. I’ve had it made for you in Pentos for years.” he said with a sigh.

 

Jaime sighed some. “It saved my life, didn’t it?” he said softly. “Imagine if Aerys had known, if Robert- We’re lucky that I was too caked in  _ mud  _ for Robb to have seen. Imagine that, not only a Lannister, one of those responsible for killing his father, but for his aunt’s death too-”

 

Tywin swallowed hard, before drawing away some, moving to sit beside him. “I took no pleasure in it. I promise you that. He may have been-- Joffrey was still my grandchild. Still family.”

 

“I can understand if this changes how you see me, Jaime. I won’t ask your forgiveness for it.”

 

Why was he so fucking reasonable? Even when he was doing horrible things, there was always a logic to it, some form of purpose behind it. Tywin was a man of action. Sharp, decisive actions. He didn’t worry himself after forgiveness or understanding from anyone but himself. No cruelty for cruelty’s sake alone.

 

What Jaime wouldn’t give to hate him for it.

 

“You already have it, Father.” he said softly. “You were right. Joffrey was a monster. He was my son but he was-” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “He would have been just like Aerys.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1am counts as Wednesday, right? :P

Jon blinked, staring at Sam, who reread the letter. “You’re joking.” he said flatly.

 

Sam shook his head. “I’m reading it right off the letter. Lord Tywin was Lady Joanna.” he said, looking at Jon.

 

Maester Aemon chuckled some at his tone. “The Lord Lannister apparently has more in common with you than one would think, Jon.” he half teased, before motioning his hand some. “Off with that vest of yours. You said there was bruising?”

 

Jon made a face at that, before nodding, his hands moving over the buckles, pulling the thick straps open. Sam helped him out of it completely, giving him a moment to rub at the deep red indents it always left behind.

 

He coughed a few times, quick little things to clear his lungs, before Sam guided Aemon over.

 

“How did no one find him out? He’s been going at this for how long now?” Jon asked, looking over Aemon’s shoulder to Sam.

 

The Maester pressed his fingertips along the side of his chest gently, making Jon wince nonetheless, his lip curling as the man found the rib that had been caught by a rogue swing during practice.

 

Aemon hummed in sympathy, before taking his hands back, nodding for Jon to work himself back into the binder.

 

“A trusted Maester, and good friends. The same as you.” Sam reasoned, shrugging a bit. “I can’t think of a time you’ve gotten hurt one of us wasn’t there to help you- and you said the Free Folk didn’t care any.”

 

“That won’t hurt healing, but it won’t help it either.” Aemon warned Jon. “You’ll be sore for some time, but nothing is broken.” He shifted, his hands shaking as he extended one to Sam, the man helping him back to his seat at the desk.

 

Jon sighed a bit. “I can’t afford to go without it. Not right now. Layers or not, people have been… paying attention. I’m the Lord Commander now.”

 

Aemon nodded. “That you are. And how are the Lord Commander’s monthlies? You’re rather a regular one, aren’t you? That would mean you’re bleeding this week.” 

 

Jon felt his cheeks flush, looking to Sam, who was casually pretending he suddenly couldn’t hear, busying himself with organizing Aemon’s tinctures. “I’m fine. A bit of cramping, but I’ve had worse. I need more cotton though.”

 

Aemon nodded to that. “Sam can take the old, and wash it for you. Once his Grace decides to leave, I need to examine you more fully. You’ve put off your health far too long.”

 

Sighing heavily, Jon nodded. “I know. I know. I’ve been busy.”

 

Sam chuckled at that. “That’s an understatement. You’ve got a lot going on. You leave for Hardhome soon, don’t you?”

 

Jon nodded, pulling his shirt on over the leather vest, just in time for a knock at the door. Jon didn’t even have time to call enter before the Red Woman entered, her eyes instantly moving to look at Jon as she shut the door behind her.

 

“We leave soon. It’s a shame you won’t join us.” she said, folding her hands before her easily.

 

Jon swallowed. “My place is here. With my brothers.”

 

She hummed, stepping forward, circling him slowly, even as he moved off the table he’d been sitting on, turning to try and keep an eye on her.

 

Gods, did she make him wildly uncomfortable.

 

“Your lovers are kissed by fire, Jon Snow.” she said after a moment, her eyes burning holes into him, stopping her pacing to stare him down. “Interesting, for a man born to ice.”

 

Jon’s jaw clenched. “What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“Nothing.” Melisandre said, before tilting her head some. “Perhaps everything. Do what you can not to die in the snow, Lord Commander. The Lord of Light has plans for you still.”

 

Jon couldn’t help the way her words made his hair stand on end, pulling his coat on and letting Sam move forward to help him with the buckles when lifting his arm hurt too much. “Thank you for coming to see me, Lady Melisandre, but I’ve got work to be getting back to.” he said stiffly, donning his cloak.

 

She smiled some. “Of course.” she said, bowing her head some. “Far be it for me to keep you.”

 

When the door shut, Jon sagged just a touch, putting his hand to his stomach and looking to Sam.

 

He shrugged a bit, shaking his head in just as much confusion as Jon felt. 

 

“I’m going to feel a hell of a lot better once they’re gone.” Jon muttered.


	16. Chapter 16

Daenerys didn’t like calling Jaime to see her like this. He had had a rather rough few days but-

 

When she heard the door open, she turned to see him, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry to call upon you already,” she said gently. “But I need your advice”

 

Jaime watched her, before nodding. “Of course, anything you need, Daenerys.” he said, moving to her side easily, touching her arm gently.

 

She gave him a weak smile, before looking back out over the balcony.

 

“I didn’t know who else to ask- every one of my counsel says something different. I have so many different arguments in my head, I’m surprised it’s not spinning round.” She said, clenching her jaw some, pressing her thumb into the palm of her hand to ground herself. “I was trying to give you time with your father, without dragging you into my problems-”

 

“I’m your brother and your prince. Your problems are my problems.” Jaime watched her, before hesitating some. “What’s happened?” he asked.

 

“You remember recently-- An Unsullied, White Rat, he was murdered at a brothel.” Daenerys started, her voice soft. “We found the man that did it, a member of Sons of the Harpy- Ser Barristan convinced me that we should have a fair trial but-”

 

Jaime could see where this was going already.

 

“Someone killed him.”

 

Daenerys turned, looking to him. “You knew?” she asked.

 

“Something similar happened with the Starks.” he said, swallowing hard. “I wasn’t there for it, specifically. Lady Stark had let me go before then- but I know what happened.”

 

Daenerys frowned, before motioning for him to go on.

 

“Robb Stark had this one Lord, Rickard Karstark. I killed his son in an escape attempt. He wanted to kill me, he was told no. Then the wonderful Catelyn Stark- formidable woman. Hit me with a rock once, good arm- she let me go. Sent me on with Brienne of Tarth, to go back to King’s Landing in exchange for her girls. Didn’t know we only had Sansa, not that great of a trade really.”

 

He sighed some, before shaking his head a bit. “Karstark got pissed. Mad with grief. Wanted justice. Killed my cousins in their cell. Eleven and fourteen they were. Robb Stark branded him a traitor, beheaded him- as is the law. Lost more than half his army, lost the support of the North, and then lost his head.”

 

Daenerys stared at him, swallowing hard. “What would you have me do then?” she asked softly. “Do you think he’s exempt from the law, just because of who he is? Why he did it? If we spare every man who commits a crime because it might anger someone, we pardon every criminal.” she said, her voice tight.

 

Jaime shook his head some. “Sometimes, justice isn’t what’s important.” he said, watching her. “Sometimes, you need to set justice aside, to keep people safe. If you kill him, what does it say, and to who? Do you think that the men who paid the assassin are mourning the assassin’s death? Do you think the slaves who love you, who want the people trying to hurt you dead- do you think they’ll understand why you’re killing someone who was trying to save you?”

 

Shaking her head some, Daenerys squeezed her eyes shut.

 

“What would you have me do?” she asked again. “I can’t spare him, or else the next time this happens, I can’t punish them either. I can’t sentence him to death, as is the law, or I risk losing my subjects, according to you. What option do I have left?”

 

Jaime hesitated a moment. “My father would know.” he said finally, watching her cautiously. “I’m not saying make him your Hand- but asking his advice can’t hurt.”

 

Daenerys rounded on him. “That man killed my niece and nephew, had my sister by law raped and murdered. I will  _ not  _ ask his counsel.”

 

Jaime frowned. “ _ That man _ kept me safe from the time  _ our _ father raped him, to now. He followed Robert’s orders to protect my family-  _ your  _ family through me. You don’t have to like him, but if you scorn everyone that supported Robert, or followed his orders against the Targaryen line, you might as well not even sail for Westeros because you’ll have to sentence every man and woman there for the crimes of the past.”

 

Clenching her jaw, Daenerys interjected. “I will not hold the sins of the few against all of Westeros. You love your father, I understand that-”

 

“Do you?” Jaime cut her off. “You didn’t even know your family. Your anger is based on the names of people you never met. He killed my _son_ , not even a _month_ ago. I watched him die, choking on his own blood. _You_ don’t understand.”

 

Daenerys recoiled, her lips parted, staring at him. “Your son?” she asked, staring at him.

 

Jaime froze, before swallowing hard and nodding. “Joffrey.” he said softly.

 

“Joffrey was a Baratheon.” Daenerys said slowly, her brow furrowing watching him.

 

“Joffrey was as much a Baratheon as you’re a Lannister. Cersei was his mother, I was his father. Tommen and Myrcella are also mine.” he said, his voice soft.

 

Daenerys reached out, putting her hand on the edge of the table, the other over her stomach. No wonder he had shut down the other night.  _ You don’t know. _ She had said that to him, had thrown that in his face but  _ she  _ was the one that hadn’t known.

 

She swallowed hard, before wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue and giving a nod. “Call him in.” she said softly. “I’ll ask his opinion, and then I’ll make my decision.”

 

\----

 

Tywin raised a brow as he listened to Jaime explain the situation, sitting in a chair in his suite, turning it over in his mind.

 

“And she wants  _ my _ opinion on this?” he asked, tilting his head some.

 

“I offered it.” Jaime said, watching him. “She asked my opinion, and I’ve no head for politics. When a situation like this arises, I ask you.”

 

Tywin gave huffed out a soundless chuckle, before giving a nod, gripping the arm of his chair as he levered himself to his feet with a pained grunt. Jaime started forward, only to stop at the glare he received from Tywin. “It’s a difficult situation.” he said. “I take it that she doesn’t want wholesale slaughter of the Masters.”

 

Jaime gave him a look. “She wants peace.”

 

“She’s made that clear.” he said, shaking his head some. “She’s idealistic. She needs a realist she can listen to.”

 

“Are you saying you’re not the right man for the job?”

 

“She despises me. If she listens, I’ll consider myself blessed. If she half listens, then she’s only doing it out of her fondness for you.” Tywin countered easily, pulling his jacket on, the stiff inserts in the front of it hiding any hint of his breasts.

 

Jaime was almost awed at the effectiveness of it. No wonder he always wore heavy coats like that, no matter the weather. “We could have you a lighter one made. So you won’t have escaped Westeros just to die of heat stroke in Essos.” he joked.

 

Tywin hummed some. “I’ll think on it.” he said, looking over at him. He paused a moment, his hands stilling over his last fastening. “Does it bother you? What I am?” he asked him.

 

The question caught Jaime off guard, looking at Tywin like he was crazy for a split second before he regained his composure. “You’re my father.” he said firmly. “I don’t care what’s under your clothes. You have always been my father, and you always will be.”

 

Tywin swallowed hard, before he tugged his hem down, heading for the door. “We best not keep her Grace waiting.”

 

\----

 

“So you don’t want me to pardon him, but you don’t think I should kill him.” Daenerys said, watching Tywin, her eyes flicking over to Jaime, who was watching the both of them.

 

Tywin gave a nod. “As I said, your Grace, neither of those actions will help your situation. You need to make a statement, condemning his actions, while showing mercy and understanding for them.”

 

She huffed out a breath, all but rolling her eyes, focusing her gaze on the ceiling for a moment. “Alright. And how do I do that, pray tell?”

 

“Exile him in some fashion. Were this Westeros, you could send him to the Night’s Watch. You don’t have that option here, so send him walking with some provisions. Give him to a religious order. Sentence him to hard labor for a period of time. There are ways to punish a man without death.”

 

Daenerys swallowed hard. “He took a man’s life, and you wish me to give him a punishment worthy of theft.” she said, watching him.

 

“I’m asking you to see grey.” Tywin said firmly.

 

She blinked, staring at him. “I’m sorry?” she asked.

 

“You’re looking at this situation in a black and white sense. Wrong and right.” Tywin said, watching her. “But it’s not that simple. If you respond based on the law alone, you show you’re unempathic. That you can not understand the plights and wants of those you rule over. So yes. Sentence him with mercy, as if it were a lesser crime. If another commits the same crime-  _ then  _ you respond with the full extent of the law.”

 

Jaime watched as Daenerys took that in, before cutting in. “They view you as their mother.” he said. “Isn’t that what Mhysa means? Punish him as you would a child. Gently at first, then firmly if they repeat the action.”

 

She swallowed hard, making eye contact with him, before giving a gentle nod. “Very well.” she said. “Thank you both for your counsel. Leave me.” She turned away, listening to both men leaving the room, taking a deep breath.

 

She wouldn’t sleep well tonight.


	17. Chapter 17

Jaime blinked when he saw Daario leaving Daenerys’s rooms the next morning, feeling an odd sense of uneasiness creeping through him. Swallowing hard, he turning to the side, giving him a nod as the mercenary passed.

 

Looking back to the doors, he took a deep breath, before turning away from the doors.

 

He could check on Daenerys later.

 

“Jaime?”

 

Too late.

 

He put a cautious smile on his face, turning to greet Daenerys with a bow of the head. “Good morning, Daenerys. Did you sleep well?” he asked, trying to force his mind away from Daario’s presence.

 

She smiled at him. “I did.” she said. “And I thought on your father’s words-”

 

Jaime looked to her, tilting his head some. “You did?” he asked curiously.

 

Giving a single nod of acknowledgement, Daenerys spun the signet ring on her finger. “I’ll sentence him, to either live as a brother in a temple of his choice- or he dies. He may choose.” she said finally, watching him.

 

Jaime gave her a slight smile. “A wise and merciful decision, your Grace.” he said.

 

Daenerys watched him, before tilting her chin up some. “Thank you.” she said after a moment, drawing a look from him. “For yesterday. It wasn’t pleasant to hear, I’ll admit- but, Daario once told me that as the Queen, people are often too scared of me to tell me the truth. You told me the truth.”

 

Jaime watched her for a moment, before smiling a touch. “I’m here to serve you, Daenerys. I’d be doing my job poorly if I didn’t speak honestly.” he said gently.

 

Her brow furrowed some, watching him, before hesitating. “You don’t serve me, Jaime. You’re my brother. You don’t have to earn your keep.”

 

Jaime stared at her, as if not understanding what she meant, before hesitating, opening his mouth to speak. There was a knock, and Missandei entered the room, only to pause, blinking when she saw the both of them.

 

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to interrupt-” she said quickly.

 

Jaime waved it off. “You’re fine, my Lady.” he said, drawing a smile from Daenerys. “Thank you for your time, your Grace. Will I see you at dinner tonight?”

 

“Of course.” Daenerys said. “Are you too busy to join me for breakfast?”

 

Jaime hesitated, before shaking his head a bit. “Unfortunately, I already have plans. Kovarro is going to teach me how to ride in a more… Dothraki fashion. I expect I’ll be coming to dinner rather bruised.”

 

Daenerys gave him a fond look, before nodding. “Enjoy yourself- try not to break anything.” she teased. She watched he gave a short bow, before heading to the door. Calling out before he could reach the door, Daenerys took a half step forward. “Tomorrow- I sentence him.” she said, watching as he turned back to her. “I want you beside me when I do.”

 

Jaime watched her, before giving a short bow. “Always.”

 

The word stole her breath, the way he said it, and she swallowed hard, her hand clenching tight against her chest.

 

\----

 

“Jaime should be here. He belongs at my side.” Cersei said, her jaw tight as she walked through the halls, Qyburn at her side. He looked to her, raising a brow silently. “Yes, I know.” she snapped. “He’s just as traitorous a snake as the others. First the little monster kills my son, then attempts to kill my mother, and now Jaime and my mother have both run off to Gods know where, and that beast wanders free.” she complained, before taking a deep breath, her lips pursed and tight.

 

“She didn’t have to run. It’s not as if I’d have allowed anything to hurt her.” she said after a moment, frowning and tilting her chin up. “I’m sure once she realizes that I have no plans to strip power from her, she’ll return.”

 

Qyburn nodded. “Of course, your Grace. As for your brother- we’ve finally heard whispers of him.” he said, watching her. Offering over a raven’s scroll, he waited patiently as she unfurled and read it.

 

“He’s sworn to the Targaryen bitch?” she demanded, looking up at him. “It’s good to know she’s so desperate that she hires one handed men.”

 

It stung, hearing that Jaime had left and gone straight to another woman- but after seeing the way Brienne and he had looked at one another, Cersei wasn’t honestly surprised. She had stopped trusting men to be loyal a long time ago. Any woman with perky tits and a wet cunt was her enemy at this point.

 

“I’ll write him.” she said. “Bring him home. If I promise not to hurt his little gremlin, he has no reason to stay in the East.”

 

Qyburn bowed shortly. “Very well, your Grace.”

 

Cersei huffed, before pushing open the doors to the small council, moving forward and circling around the table. She could feel the men’s eyes on her as she came to stand beside the chair she normally took, looking to Qyburn and motioning. 

 

Only after he had taken his seat, did she take her own- in the chair of the Hand. Folding her hands in her lap, she tilted her chin up.

 

“You’re the new Hand?” Kevan demanded, looking at her sharply.

 

Cersei gave her uncle a thin smile. “In a sense, Uncle. His Grace has asked I oversee the council and its dealings to protect his interests. Until he comes of age and appoints a Hand formally, I will serve as a provisionary one.”

 

Kevan scoffed. “I will hear it from the King himself.” he snapped, glaring at her. He opened his mouth to speak, only for her to cut him and Pycelle both off.

 

“Qyburn has been named the new Master of Whisperers.”

 

Pycelle scoffed. “This deviant? His word brought shame to all of the Citadel when-”

 

“His Grace appointed him as the new Master of Whisperers, Maester. He’s not looking for an argument, he’s looking for productivity and efficiency. Something you lack.”

 

Mace looked unhappy, watching Cersei with a clear frown on his features. “What qualifications could he possibly have?”

 

“Loyalty, which is more than Varys ever had. My Lord Tyrell- his Grace has appointed you his new Master of Coin. He said in matters of currency, he trusts your judgement and expertise.” Cersei said, easily distracting him from the topic at hand, watching him preen under the praise.

 

Kevan scoffed openly and Cersei turned her gaze to him next. “He has also appointed you his new Master of War, uncle. There’s no better man living who deserves the title.”

 

“He can tell me himself, if he has need of me.” Kevan said, standing with a scrape of his chair. “I won’t sit here as a woman claims the title of Hand and stacks the small council with sycophants!”

 

Cersei took a deep breath, tilting her chin up as she watched him. “A woman held the title of Hand for more than twenty five years under two separate kings.” she said, her voice sharp. “Unless you’re suddenly doubting the accomplishments of Lady Joanna, your sister?” 

 

Kevan went still, glaring at her. “My sister’s deception should be a mark of shame upon our house, not upheld as a standard of excellence.” he hissed.

 

“Then you do deny her accomplishments? You doubt the prosperity she brought while managing the Mad King? Or that she ended a war while you could barely keep your head above water? Forgive me, my Lord- who was it that arranged the death of Robb Stark?”

 

Kevan stood stiffly, glaring at her openly. “If the King wishes my service, he can find me in Casterly Rock and tell me himself.” he said, before turning, striding from the room.

 

Cersei hummed, watching the door slam shut, before looking to the other two. “Is there any more dramatics to be had, or shall we actually begin our work now?”

 

When the meeting was over, Cersei stayed in the Small Council room for a bit, Qyburn watching silently as she cradled a glass of wine, staring out the window.

 

“He could have stayed.” she said after a moment. “I might not have been happy he helped that ugly, little thing, but Jaime has always had a soft spot for the pitiful and misshapen. After all, just look at how taken he was with the brute, Brienne.”

 

Qyburn hummed some. “People often mistake the unfortunate for the exotic, your Grace.” he excused.

 

“Perhaps after losing his hand he thought he could do no better.” She mused. “Jaime may have been a good fighter, but he’s always been a bleeding heart. Stupid in every way but with his sword. I suppose it was easy for Tyrion to manipulate him. Pulled at his heartstrings, perhaps he cried a touch. Jaime would have fallen for it in moments.”

 

Taking a long drink of her wine, she pursed her lips, looking back to him.

 

“If he had stayed, I may have forgiven him for betraying me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and questions are greatly appreciated! Thank you so much for reading, and I look forward to your feedback!


	18. Chapter 18

Daenerys was nervous as she moved to the middle of the dais, her head held high. Mossador knelt to her right, but she didn’t look at him as he pleaded with her.

 

She refused to swallow to wet her tongue, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. Glancing to the side, she looked to Jaime, who gave her a small nod of encouragement.

 

“When I came to Meereen, I made the people a promise. Freedom and Justice. You cannot have one without the other; the law is the law and it affects all equally.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “This man killed a prisoner, stealing from him the right to a free trial. He thought he had a just reason, but again, the law is the law.”

 

“Mhysa please-” Mossador said, putting his hands together, the shackles around his wrists clinking.

 

Daenerys looked to him, before speaking once more.

 

“I understand the wrongs of the past have wounded us all. Those wounds may not heal in this lifetime, or the next, but they will heal. Our laws are in place to protect and guide us, stitches to close these wounds. Lancing a boil is never pleasant, but it cures the infection. A murderer will not be allowed to go free, no matter his victim.”

 

The air was dead silent, as if not even the wind dared to blow, Daenerys turning to face Mossador.

 

“I offer mercy out of the understanding of your situation. This mercy is freedom of choice as to your sentence. You may live the rest of your days in service to a God of your choosing, as a brother in a temple of Meereen- or you may die. The choice is yours.”

 

All eyes moved to Mossador, the freedman looking up at Daenerys with wide eyes.

 

Quickly he bowed forward, pressing his hands to the stone above his head. “Mercy, Mhysa-” he said, his voice cracking. “I beg your mercy. I will serve.”

 

Daenerys watching him, before giving the slightest of nods to Daario, who moved forward and hauled the man to his feet, leading him off the dais.

 

Looking out to the crowd, Daenerys spoke again. “I make allowance for the wounds of the people.” she said, watching them all. “But I will not tolerate it if a wrongdoing is repeated. This mercy will not be offered again. The next person to commit treason, to steal a life they had no claim to, will die.”

 

There was still silence in the crowd as she looked to Jaime. He stepped to the side a touch, giving her room to pass him as she moved off the platform, her guards flanking her, head held high, despite the way her heart was beating in her throat.

 

Jaime joined her, watching the crowd as they moved through. This was his first true time among the people, and he could feel their eyes on him, staring at him as he passed.

 

Of all ways to make his first public appearance.

 

Daenerys looked to him as they broke free of the crowd completely, moving into the shade of the pyramid. She offered a small smile, before taking a deep breath, reaching out and taking his hand. Giving a tight squeeze, she drew strength from the contact, the look of support he gave her, before letting go quickly.

 

Daario moved forward, smiling at her in that lovely way. “You seem stressed, your Grace. Would you like to go relax?” he offered easily.

 

Daenerys laughed a touch, a breathless sound, before giving a short nod. “That would be lovely.” she said, before looking to Jaime. “I’ll see you at dinner, brother.”

 

Jaime smiled stiffly, nodding to her.

 

He couldn’t help the pang in his gut as he watched the two of them leave, Daario a bit too close, too casual. He caught a glimpse of the man putting his hand on the small of Daenerys’s back, and his hand clenched on the hilt of his short sword, taking a deep breath.

 

He wanted to find something to hit all of a sudden.

 

That would have to wait, Father had wanted to be informed right away.

 

Tywin was in his suite, as always, pouring over a book. He looked up when Jaime knocked and entered, raising a brow. “How did it go?”

 

“Well- it made an impression, but I wouldn’t call it entirely positive.” he said, shrugging some. “We didn’t start a riot, so I count it as a victory.”

 

“A single battle in the war.” Tywin countered, scowling at his book.

 

Jaime sighed some, before taking a seat opposite him, picking up one of the books, reading the title on the cover. “These are in Valyrian.”

 

Tywin hummed some. “I know enough to manage them.” he said, before looking up to him. “Have you been learning?”

 

“Valyrian? Gods no. I’d end up accidentally insulting someone. No. I’ve been learning Dothraki. We may only have a small handful of Dothraki, but they act as Daenerys’s Queensguard for all intents and purpose. I’d like to be able to speak to them.”

 

Tywin looked up over the top of his book, the flat expression telling Jaime exactly what he thought of that excuse.

 

Shifting in his seat, Jaime looked out to the balcony.

 

They sat in silence for a long moment, before Tywin sighed some, setting the book down. “You have something to say?”

 

Jaime blinked, looking to him. “Nothing of importance.”

 

Tywin arched his brow, motioning to him with one hand, a sign to continue nonetheless.

 

Tilting his head to the side, Jaime gave his father a displeased look, before taking a breath and nodding. “What happens when she finds out?”

 

“She?”

 

“You know exactly who I’m talking about.” Jaime said. “What happens when Cersei learns I’ve been named as Daenerys’s de facto heir, as her brother? When she realizes what that means?” He tilted his head to the other side, his brows raising as he watched him. “Daenerys’s claim is Targaryen. It’s her blood. If Cersei learns that  _ she’s _ a Targaryen, and that Tommen is?”

 

Tywin frowned, sighing heavily and nodding. “It becomes a fight of claim. Tommen is already crowned. In line of succession, you would have first claim. Cersei would demand that of you, and that you marry her, as is custom for Targaryens. It would legitimize Tommen and Myrcella, once the truth of their births come out.”

 

“I don’t want to be the King.” 

 

“I doubt Cersei would let you. She would want the power. You’d be king in name, but she’d force you aside.” Tywin said, watching him. “Unless you’re to tell me you’re willing to stand against her?”

 

Jaime swallowed hard, watching him, before taking a deep breath. “We were born before Daenerys.” he said. “I don’t want the throne, but if I recant my claim, Cersei is the eldest of the two daughters, and she already has the Red Keep.”

 

“Then it’s war.” Tywin said simply. “She either bends the knee, or we fight. Daenerys will have the crown, and I will have Casterly, one way or another.”

 

Jaime swallowed hard, before closing his eyes. “And what happens to my children?”

 

Tywin didn’t respond.


	19. Chapter 19

The raven scroll was laying on the war table when Jaime walked in, blinking and looking to Daenerys.

 

She was stiff, frowning, her posture entirely too closed off. “You have a letter.” she said, motioning to it. “I haven’t opened it yet.”

 

Jaime blinked, before moving forward. Who-

 

He saw the seal and instantly froze, taking a deep breath. “Word of my whereabouts have reached Westeros?” he said uneasily, cracking the seal by forcing his thumb under the wax. He used the side of his false hand to pin it to the table as he unrolled it, his heart beating in his throat.

 

The words were written in that looping handwriting he knew oh too well, swallowing hard. “It’s from Cersei.” he said aloud.

 

Daenerys watched him. “What does it say?” she asked sharply.

 

Jaime looked up at her, before offering the paper to her.

 

Daenerys took it, turning to the light as she read aloud. “My dearest Jaime- King’s Landing feels so empty without you here. I heard news that you’ve run to the-” she paused, scoffing some, before continuing. “To the Targaryen whore that claims to rule Meereen. We miss you. I miss you, your touch, your warmth- I beg of you. Return to me, return to our family, here in King’s Landing. Your misdeeds will be pardoned out of my love for you. Your love, Cersei.”

 

She looked over to him, frowning. “Will you go?” she asked, her voice tight.

 

Jaime looked up to her, before swallowing hard and shaking his head. “No. I told you already- I’ll be at your side.” he said, his throat dry, swallowing to try and wet it.

 

“She’s your sister. Your lover.”

 

“She’s  _ our  _ sister.” he reminded Daenerys, before straightening, looking to her. “But I’m not with her. I’m here, with you.”

 

There was something there, in his tone, that gave Daenerys pause, before she swallowed hard, letting her chin fall some, relaxing from her defensive posture. “The last time someone I care for received a letter from Westeros, I learned my closest advisor had been spying on me. Forgive the suspicion.” 

 

Jaime nodded some. “There’s nothing to be forgiven, Daenerys.” he said, before reaching up, rubbing at his hair some, looking back to the letter, clutched in Daenerys’s hands, tight enough to half crumple the parchment.

 

“She addressed this as ‘your love’.” she ventured after a moment, looking to him. “Do you?”

 

“Do I love her?” he asked, frowning some. “She’s my sister.”

 

“That’s not what I am asking.”

 

Jaime opened his mouth, wanting to respond, but he fell silent instead. Clenching his jaw for a moment, he gave a frustrated shake of his head. “I don’t know.” he admitted. “I want to say yes, I love her. She’s not just my sister, she’s the only woman I’ve ever been with, the mother of my children. She has her… moments, however. The time apart has changed how I view some things. I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for.”

 

“What do you mean, moments?” Daenerys watched him, waiting for him to continue.

 

“Cersei gets what she wants, one way or another. I don’t know what she went through while I was gone but she’s different- Cold. Distant. Possessive.”

 

She didn’t like what that implied, swallowing hard, before nodding. “You don’t have to explain anymore.” she said softly. “Thank you.”

 

Looking to the letter, feeling the sudden urge to burn it, Daenerys swallowed hard, before offering it back to him.

 

Jaime blinked, before reaching out, taking the strip of paper cautiously.

 

He looked down to the perfect cursive, the looped signature at the bottom of the paper, before carefully rolling it back up, gripping it tight in his hand.

 

Daenerys turned away, her hands clenched together to keep them from shaking. “You may go, Jaime. Deal with your letter. I’ll have them call you when dinner is ready.”

 

Jaime watched her back for a moment, before nodding, the action leading into a half bow, stepping back.

 

“Your Grace.” he said as means of farewell.

 

He had far too much to think on now.

 

He repeated the words over in his mind, again and again as he walked towards his rooms. She wanted him back. She still loved him. She missed him.

 

Why didn’t it make him feel happy? Why was there some tight knot of dread in his gut, growing with each step?

 

Should he be responding? Should he explain?

 

There were too many questions and no answers for him.

 

Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against the carved wood, pressing his hand back against it, fingers tracing along the geometric pattern, small and large squares that interlocked in a maze of shapes.

 

Jaime swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a breath, before he moved forward, dropping the small roll of a letter onto the desk he never used, turning away and rushing out into the open air of the balcony.

 

He needed a moment to breathe. To think.

 

Instead, as if summoned by his desperation and confusion, the bells started to toll their alarm. Jaime spun, making sure his sword was on his hip, already headed out of his room to go find Daenerys, to keep her safe.

 

Was the pyramid itself under attack?

 

Daenerys looked anxious as Jaime was allowed into the room, moving to her side instantly, his metal hand resting against her elbow gently, the other coming up, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. “What’s happened?” he asked.

 

Daenerys blinked, taking a breath, already leaning into his touch. “There’s an attack. Three of our districts- Grey Worm was injured and Ser Barristan is-” her voice broke and Jaime felt his chest tighten.

 

“Barristan?” he asked, pressing for information.

 

Daenerys blinked, unshed tears wetting her lashes. “He’s dead. They’re doing what they can to secure the districts-”

 

She looked up at him, seeing the look of grief on his face. “I’m sorry, Jaime. I know what he meant to you-”

 

“He meant just as much to you, Daenerys.” he excused, before shifting, letting his hand fall to her shoulder, glad that they were alone. Missandei must be at Grey Worm’s side- He hesitated, unsure how she would respond, before wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in against him. His hand slipped into her hair, resting his chin on the top of her head gently.

 

Daenerys wrapped her arms around him, her hands clenching tight in his doublet, breathing shallow, ragged breaths against his chest.

 

“Daario is out there, with the rest of the Second Sons.” she said softly.

 

Jaime’s arms tightened a bit, swallowing hard as he stared at the wall opposite them, not entirely sure what he was feeling. “He’ll be fine.” he promised. “He wouldn’t dare upset you like that.”

 

She gave a weak laugh before nodding some. “Of course not.”

 

There was a moment of silence, Daenerys’s face hidden against his chest, before she spoke again. “Promise me that you won’t either.”

 

Jaime swallowed hard, before nodding a bit, his chin moving against the top of her head. He hesitated, before gently kissing the top of her head.

 

“I would never.”


	20. Chapter 20

Jaime looked over the city, standing in the balcony, his fingers running along the stone of the railing.

 

It was barely midday but he felt like he had no time. No time to think, to decide, to act-

 

That was true in a sense, however.

 

Cersei wanted him to come home. That had been what she said, wasn’t it? Come home, to her and his family.

 

If he took more than a day to decide, would she throw the delay in his face? Like she had after he’d come home from being imprisoned by the Starks?

 

_ You took too long. _

 

That had been her words when she saw him. Not ‘I’m glad you’re safe’. Not ‘what happened to your hand.’ Not ‘Jaime, I’ve missed you.’

 

No, she had blamed him for his absence, as if he’d willingly given himself to Robb Stark.

 

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, before releasing it slowly, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the banister.

 

What was there for him here? Father. Tyrion was supposed to be here ages ago- had he changed his mind without sending a letter?

 

Daenerys.

 

He swallowed hard, his hand tightening a moment, before shaking his head, as if he could shoo the thoughts with the motion.

 

What exactly could he be to her?

 

He was her brother, they had both accepted that. Her crowned prince, at least until she had children of some sort. When that happened, he was back to being just Jaime.

 

And if she won Westeros? Married a Lord of one of the great houses, had small children to put crowns on- what would he be? What would he do with his life?

 

Would he pledge himself to the Kingsguard once more?

 

He doubted Tywin would allow that. He’d be ushered home before he could even suggest it, shoved into learning the ways of Casterly, the ins and outs of the Rock and its rule. More lectures on duty and family and the power of gold.

 

He sighed some, hanging his head a bit, pressing his forehead to his arms.

 

He would be a Lord of a Great House then, wouldn’t he?

 

The thought made his throat tight and he took a sharp inhale, pushing back from the railing quickly, moving inside his rooms, his hand working over the straps to his prosthetic, working it loose.

 

Wouldn’t that be the Targaryen way, however? He had the silver hair, the purple eyes, though not nearly so vibrant as hers. So would their children.

 

Silver haired, purple eyed princes and princesses, fit to carry on the Targaryen name. After all, if they wed, he’d have to take the name. Son of Aerys and Tywin. 

 

Jaime Targaryen.

 

The name made him shiver, not able to put his finger on if it was disgust or fear that sent a chill down his spine. 

 

What sort of divine joke was this?

 

The Targaryen Kingslayer. Son of the man that had stolen him from his home, his family, had forced him to watch while he tortured and maimed people, a rapist- a madman that had tried to burn down the world.

 

His father.

 

Jaime’s entire life circled the man.

 

Targaryen.

Kingslayer.

 

No matter what, he was doomed to remember him, to have his name related back to him.

 

No one he met would ever be able to divorce the two of them.

 

Jaime, killer of Aerys. Jaime, the son of Aerys. Jaime- Aerys.

 

He took a deep breath, dropping the steel hand to the desk, his eyes falling to that little roll. The letter there.

 

He swallowed hard, reaching out. Pinning the edge with his inkwell, he unrolled it once more, looking over the writing.

 

It took some time, forcing himself through reading, trailing his finger under the words, mouthing with it to avoid confusing his place.

 

He owed her a response in the least- didn’t he?

 

Jaime hesitated, picking up his pen and a sheet of paper. He posed the quill above the inkwell, trying to think what to write, swallowing hard.

 

He couldn’t lie to her, but he couldn’t imagine her response when she read the truth. She knew he was in Meereen now, how long would it be until news of who, of what he was reached her as well?

 

The parchment felt like it was glaring at him, open and blank and begging for words. Huffing, he dunked the pen down into the ink, and brought it to the paper.

 

His letters were crooked and uneven, fighting to keep his lines straight and failing.

 

_ My dearest Cersei, _

_ I hope you can understand when I say I cannot return to Westeros just yet. I love you and our family dearly, but I cannot stand for the injustice that threatened to ruin our family. Tyrion is an innocent man, and he needs me more than Westeros does just now. _

 

He made a frustrated noise, putting that letter to the side without letting the ink dry, grabbing a new sheet.

 

_ My loved Cersei, _

_ I’m sorry. I can’t come home to Westeros just yet. I know this news will sadden and upset you, but I hope you come to understand. I am needed here by family and the people of Meereen. I hope I can return to you soon, and that we can be together once more. _

 

He paused, looking over his words, before shaking his head some.

 

_ I hope I can return to you soon, and that we can be together once more. As brother and sister. _

 

That felt markedly better, and he swallowed hard, shaking his head at how messy the writing was. He was running out of room.

 

_ Please don’t despair at my absence.  _

 

He swallowed hard. He should tell her of their father, of their blood, of Daenerys- but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, signing his name awkwardly and shoving the paper away to dry, the wet ink catching the sunlight.

 

He still wasn’t sure he’d send it.

 

\----

 

Daenerys stood over Barristan’s body, her eyes only barely focused on his chest, listening as Hizdahr entered the room. She didn’t take her eyes off him as she heard him speak, her fingers running along Barristan’s sleeve, tugging it into place absently.

 

“I’m so sorry, your Grace. He was a good man.”

 

She clenched her jaw.

 

“Barristan the Bold, they called him. He crossed a continent to serve me.” She blinked a single tear wetting her lashes, trying hard not to let it fall. She didn’t have time for tears right now. Far too many had been shed already. “He was a loyal friend. And he died, butchered in an alley, by cowards who hide behind masks.”

 

Daario swallowed, watching her. Stepping forward, one hand on his hilt, he offered a suggestion. “We could pull back to the Pyramid district. Secure it, and use it as a base from which to operate. Then we clean the city out, neighborhood by neighborhood, street by street, until the rats have nowhere else to hide.”

 

Jaime looked to him, before grudgingly nodding some. “It’s a good plan.” he said.

 

Daenerys let the thought turnover in her mind, before looking up, staring at her seat at the top of the dias.

 

Turning, she looked to Hizdahr, her face carefully calm, eyes on him.

 

“I prefer your earlier suggestion, Daario.” She said, her voice gaining a steel edge that made Jaime look to her, swallowing hard. “Round up the leaders of each of Meereen’s great families and bring them to me.”

 

Silence hit the room as everyone processed that. Daario looked to Jaime, who raised his brows consideringly, before looking past the mercenary to focus on Hizdahr.

 

Jaime could see the moment that it processed in Hizdahr’s mind, how his eyes widened and his breath quickened. “But… I’m the leader of my family.” he said.

 

Daario nodded, watching as two of the Unsullied moved forward instantly, hooking their arms under Hizdahr’s, dragging him backwards.

 

“No! Your Grace! I had nothing to do with this!”

 

Daenerys didn’t take her eyes off him as he struggled against the hold, unable to get away from the guards as they pulled him from the room. “Your Grace!”

 

After a moment, Daenerys turned, looking to Daario, raising a brow as if daring him to speak on the matter.

 

He gave a slight shrug.

 

Jaime swallowed hard, before looking to Daenerys. “What are you going to do with them?” he asked after a moment.

 

Daenerys pressed her lips together, before looking to him. “I’m going to introduce them to my children.”

 

That made his throat tight, watching her. “Do you want me there?” he asked cautiously.

 

Daenerys could see how nervous it made him, tilting her chin up just a bit. “I’m going to kill one of them. A life for a life, as I promised.” she said, her voice even. “You cannot talk me out of it. If you watch, if you stand by my side as I do this- it’s your decision, Jaime.”

 

His jaw clenched.

 

“When?” he asked softly.

 

“Tonight. I want them to sit in their cells first, and think on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! <3 I thrive off of your feedback as I write the next chapters!


	21. Chapter 21

"And though Daenerys maintains her grip on Slaver's Bay, forces rise against her from within and without. She refuses to leave until the freedom of the former slaves is secure.” Sam hummed some, smiling a touch. “She sounds like quite a woman.”

 

There was an agreeing noise from Aemon, the Maester staring at the space before him, unseeing. “And she's alone, under siege, no family to guide her or protect her. Her last relation thousands of miles away, useless, dying.”   
  
Same swallowed hard, watching him. The tone of Aemon’s voice, how sure he sounded of his own death- “Don't say that, Maester Aemon.” he said.   
  
The Maester shook his head a touch. Sam would come to accept his death in time, there wasn’t much more he could do to prepare him. “A Targaryen, alone in the world, is a terrible thing.”

 

The door opened and Jon moved into the room, looking between the two of them. “Maester Aemon.” he greeted.

 

Aemon turned his ear to him. “Lord Commander.”

 

Jon was never going to get used to that, was he?

 

He looked the man over, before turning his gaze to his friend. “Sam, I’d like to speak to the Maester alone.”

 

Sam didn’t hesitate, gathering his papers and leaving the room.

 

Jon waited until he heard the door close, before moving to the vacated seat. Bracing his hands on his knees, he spoke. “How are you feeling?” he asked.   
  


Aemon gave a humorless chuckle. “Oh, like a hundred-year-old man slowly freezing to death.”   
  
Jon shook his head some, smiling and ducking his head a bit. He had always appreciated the man’s dry humor, even when faced with something as serious as his death.

 

“I need your advice. There's something I want to do, something I have to do. But it'll divide the Night's Watch. Bitterly. Half the men will hate me the moment I give the order.” He said finally, his throat tight, heart hammering.

 

He couldn’t believe he was even considering this, honestly. His first major order, and he was going to be betraying everything that the Night’s Watch held dear.

 

He couldn’t afford to leave those people out there-   
  
Aemon didn’t hesitate. “Half the men hate you already, Lord Commander.” He gave a sharp nod. “Do it.”   
  
Jon blinked, looking at him. “But you don't know what it is.”   
  
Aemon pressed his lips together, giving a slight shake of his head. “That doesn't matter. You do.” He tapped his fingers on the table some, the chain around his body clinking a bit. “You will find little joy in your command. But with luck, you will find the strength to do what needs to be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us.” 

 

“Kill the boy, and let the man be born.”

 

Jon stared at him, swallowing hard, knowing that his shortness of breath had nothing to do with the tight vest he wore.

 

Standing, he closed his eyes a moment, gathering himself. “Thank you, Maester Aemon.”

 

\----

 

“You weren’t there.” Daenerys said as she entered the council room, seeing Jaime sitting there at the table, his legs crossed, looking out the window uneasily.   
  
“No, I wasn’t.” Jaime said, swallowing hard.

 

He didn’t dare look at her just yet. He wasn’t sure what would be worse- if she understood, or if she was angry with him.

 

Daenerys watched him, waiting until he finally turned to look at her, before motioning for them to follow, moving past him and climbing the steps to her private chambers to speak.

 

Daario followed as Jaime stood, looking back at Jaime with a raised brow.

 

Taking a breath to steel himself, Jaime stood, bracing a hand on the table as he did. It was difficult, trying to reason with himself that she just might understand why he couldn’t be there, and failing to convince himself as he walked.

 

Daenerys was standing beside the fireplace, pulling her jewelry off one piece at a time. “I killed only one of them. The rest are in cells.”

 

Jaime nodded some. “I see.”

 

Daario watched the both of them, before making a frustrated noise, turning to Jaime. “You should have been there.” he said firmly. “You’re her Prince and heir. You should be supporting her.”

 

Jaime bristled at that, glaring at him. “I  _ do  _ support her!”

 

“Enough to hide in the pyramid while she makes the difficult decisions alone?” he shot back. “If you aren’t willing to be seen supporting her, then you don’t truly support her.”

 

“I stood by her side when she sentenced Mossador. I sit the Small Council and give what advice I can when asked. I will stand by her side when we sail for Westeros- I’m not  _ hiding _ .” Jaime snapped back, his voice hard, hand clenching near his hilt.

 

“But not tonight.”

 

“I’ve seen enough men burned alive!” Jaime cut in, his voice raising some.

 

That brought the room to a pause, Daenerys’s gaze snapping up to stare at Jaime, her face open and shocked. Setting her necklace down on the coffee table, she drew a slow breath. “Daario.” she said after a breath. “Leave us.”

 

The mercenary shifted, as if about to argue, before looking at Jaime again, his glare warning, as he turning and left the room, the door closing heavily behind him.

 

They weren’t looking at one another, the silence stretching for far too long between them.

 

Finally, Daenerys spoke.

 

“Do you think me our father?” she asked, her voice soft. There was anger and hurt there, carefully held back from her words, her back to him.

 

Jaime closed his eyes, before shaking his head. “No.” he said. “Aerys burnt men alive for pleasure. This was necessary.”

 

“And you’re speaking honestly?” she asked, pressing her thumb to her other palm, pinching to keep herself grounded.

 

“I am.” There was no moment of hesitation there.

 

Daenerys lowered her gaze from the ceiling to the window, seeing the lights of the city below them, her jaw aching as she clenched it. “I didn’t burn that man for sport.” she said.

 

Jaime shifted, hesitating a moment, before moving forward, touching her shoulder. She stiffened, looking at him sharply. Gently, he guided her to turn to face him, making eye contact with the shorter woman.

 

“You are not Aerys.” he said firmly. “I may never be able to divorce fire and Aerys in my mind, but I will  _ never  _ compare you to him.”

 

Daenerys blinked rapidly, before giving up and closing her eyes, trying to calm herself. “And if I do become like him?” she asked softly. “What then?”

 

Jaime made a wounded noise, shaking his head, his hand cupping her cheek. “We don’t have to plan for that, Daenerys. You won’t.”


	22. Chapter 22

Daenerys couldn’t hide her displeasure as she took her seat, feeling Daario and Jaime at her back. The tension was still there, only heightened after her announcement of her engagement. Neither of them was happy with the situation and they’d both made it known.

 

She understood why Daario had fought against it so hard but Jaime-

 

He had disguised it behind arguments of her safety, worry as to the candidate, suggestions that included everything but marriage.

 

In the end he accepted it, just as Daario had, but he was far from pleased.

 

She didn’t want to wonder why he was so invested it.

 

She didn’t need that answer right now.

 

Hizdahr took his seat beside her, Daenerys putting her wrists on her knees, her jaw tight. She was going to need a bath as soon as they got back to the palace. “Sitting through the Great Games will be bad enough.” she complained, shaking her head some.

 

Hizdahr looked to her. “For generations, in the days leading up to the great games, it has been customary for our ruler to make the rounds to the lower pits to pay the fighters there the honor of her presence.”

 

Her lip curled a bit, watching as the Master spotted her, rushing forward.

 

“Your Grace, your Future Grace, your Highness- you honor us all.”

 

Daenerys didn’t respond, looking down her nose at him.

 

She wanted this over with.

 

“We fight and die for your honor, O Glorious Queen.”

 

The words made Daenerys’s throat tight, and she blinked rapidly, trying not to let her disgust show too openly on her face.

 

The fight started with a nod from the master as he dropped his hands through the air and beat a fast retreat to safety outside the ring.

 

The tall brute in the front was the first to move in the flurry, stabbing the man beside him in the side, the leather of his scant armor parting like butter. Grunting as he backhanded the man, he sent him to his knees, moving behind him and putting his hand over the injured man’s forehead, forcing his head back.

 

Daenerys watched in horror as the man stared up at her, plunging his knife into the man’s throat, as if it was some sort of honor to see someone die. A strong thrust cut his throat open, the gurgling sound making her stomach roll as she watched the man drop to the dust, his body jerking as he bled out.

 

Looking down at her hands, she swallowed down bile.

 

Jaime could see how uncomfortable she was, taking a half step forward, reminding her of his presence, hoping it would help calm her.

 

She looked up at him uneasily, before the sounds of fighting drew her eyes again, unable to avoid seeing the gore laid out before her.

 

One man went down when a flail caught his ankle. His cry of pain was strangled as his breath left him, Daenerys watching as he tried to scramble backwards from the man approaching him.

 

Gods, she couldn’t watch this.

 

A sword bit against another man’s back, drawing a scream from him, wrenching her eyes away from the man on the ground as the flail came down into open space beside him.

 

The man who had cried out had blood pouring from a cut across his shoulders, his hands caked with mud- it was with horror that Daenerys realized the mud wasn’t from water, but his own blood.

 

He scrambled to his feet, only for the brute from the beginning of the match to grab him, tossing him to the side like he weighed nothing, sending him sprawling through the dust once more.

 

He stood, holding his hands up in surrender, but the tall man advanced with a snarl of excitement. Daenerys’s brows went up when the man turned to flee, only to have his thigh cut open, blood pouring from it freely and stopping his escape.

 

She stood abruptly. “I think I’ve seen enough.”

 

“Your Grace-”

 

Hizdahr’s voice made her stop, her nostrils flaring in agitation as she forced herself to slowly turn back to him.

 

“It’s tradition for the Queen to stay until a victor emerges.”

 

She glared at him, her hands fisting in the cape of her dress. “I’ve sacrificed more than enough for your traditions.” she snapped.

 

She would have to ask the names of those who died later. Were they honored in some way? Were their families paid?

 

There were far too many questions, her stomach tight, anxiety building.

 

Hizdahr gave her a look, one she was quickly coming to hate, like he was speaking to a child who didn’t understand the ways of the world. “If you leave now, you dishonor the fighters, your Grace.”

 

She opened her mouth to respond, only to hear a cry from the audience, looking up to see the Master from before cradling his nose, a new fighter entering the ring.

 

She knew those clothes.

 

The bald brute was knelt over a man, bashing his head in with a rock he’d found in the ring, the face of the victim under him so far gone that he was unrecognizable. Jorah didn’t waste time, advancing on him matter of factly, his sword in one hand.

 

A strong kick to the jaw sent the man backwards, dazed, the rock dropping from his fingers.

 

Clenching his hand around his hilt, he slammed the butt of his sword hard into his temple, watching him drop unconscious to the dirt.

 

Daenerys turned back to the pit fully, slowly moving back to her place, standing before her seat.

 

It couldn’t be him.

 

Jorah grabbed the next man by the shoulder, pulling him back and slamming his fist hard into his leather jerkin, knocking the wind from him, leaving him to stumble back to the ground, his hand up for mercy.

 

The next man had realized what was happening, his sword cutting through the air, making Jorah jump back a step, bending to let it pass the air just before his face.

 

His sword came up, the sound of metal meeting metal marking his block, pushing his blade forward to force the other man into resetting his stance. The moment of hesitation gave Jorah time to close the distance between them, cutting up and meeting his blade once more.

 

This time, he stepped to the side, looping his arm around the other man’s and jerking up, dislocating his shoulder with a sickening crack that made Daenerys wince in sympathy.

 

The flail from before made a dull whump as it was spun through the air, Jorah turning to face it, worry settling in Daenerys’s stomach.

 

It had to be him. He moved just like the man-

 

Jorah ducked back a few times, before doing the unexpected, throwing his sword broadside at the man, making him stumble back in shock, losing the rhythm of his flail.

 

He went low, scooping the shield off a downed man, bringing it up to defend from the flail once more, the heavy metal ball cracking against it. Jorah surged in before he could recover, slamming the shield against him, watching him drop.

 

Hearing someone coming from behind, he stepped to the side, letting the man he’d winded earlier rush him. Catching his arm before the mace made contact, he gripped the helmet he wore, yanking it down and off. The man went with it, stumbling off balance, only for the helmet to slam onto the back of his head, dropping him to the dirt to stay there.

 

Daenerys was smiling, her heart beating fast and hard, hands laced together before her as she watched him take in his surroundings, his opponents bested without more death.

 

And as he approached, his hands moving to his helmet, she felt that elation grow cold, remembering why he hadn’t been at her side these past weeks, feeling that hurt and anger return.

 

He had broken her confidence, her trust, crossed so many boundaries and refused to tell her back when he should have-

 

And now here he was, standing before her, looking up at her with adoration, as if things would go back to how they were, now that he had ignored her order, her boundaries, and was standing before her once more.

 

She took a deep breath, shaking her head some.

 

“Get him out of my sight.”

 

Her voice was shaking, she could hear that, watching the devastation that took Jorah’s expression.

 

“Khaleesi, please-” The guards rushed forward, grabbing onto Jorah as he stared up to her. “I just need a moment of your time-”

 

She was breathing hard, trying to remain calm, feeling everyone’s eyes on them.

 

“I brought you a gift!”

 

As if any gift in the world would make up for what he had done, as if he could  _ buy  _ back her affections-

 

“It’s true! He has!”

 

The voice was one she didn’t know, looking to the side as a dwarf entered her view, shackles binding his wrists together.

 

“Who are you?” she asked, confusion and hurt in her voice.

 

“I’m the-”

 

“Tyrion!” Jaime cut the man off, rushing forward and past Daenerys, jumping down off the raised platform like it was nothing. He half jogged past Jorah, kneeling before he truly stopped, skidding in the dust just a bit as he reached out, cupping his brother’s face with both hands.

 

Tyrion stared at him, before giving a relieved smile, leaning into the touch, not caring about the metal hand in the slightest.

 

Daenerys looked shocked and confused, looking at the both of them. “This is your brother?” she asked.

 

Jaime looked to her, giving a short nod. “He is.” Turning his attention back to Tyrion, he frowned. “Why are you in chains? Where’s Varys?”

 

Tyrion looked to Jorah, motioning at him with open hands. “Ask him.”


	23. Chapter 23

Tyrion looked to Jaime as they stood at the base of the dias, rubbing his wrists. His brother looked so fucking regal there, his silver hair having grown enough to really be noticeable, a thin circlet on his head.

 

Daenerys watched the both of them, looking uncomfortable and unsure.

 

“So- Tyrion Lannister.” she said finally. “You’re here to serve me?”

 

Tyrion blinked, his gaze flickering back to his brother, before looking to her, giving a considering shrug. “Serve you? Your Grace, we’ve only just met. It’s too soon to see if you deserve my service.”

 

Daenerys scoffed some, looking to the ceiling with a slight shake of her head. “I thought you said your brother was reasonable and wise, Jaime.” she said, looking to the side.

 

Jaime smirked the slightest bit. “He is. He’s also sarcastic, witty, and rather shrewd as to who he gives loyalty to.”

 

Daenerys pursed her lips some, before looking back to Tyrion. “If you’d rather return to the fighting pits, simply say the word.”

 

Tyrion gave a humorless smile, opening his arms wide. “I’m not really a fighter.” he said with an apologetic tone.

 

He took a step forward, his eyes on her. “Despite my brother’s glowing recommendation- he loves our sister. I respect his opinions, but I rather form my own as to the people we know.”

 

That made Daenerys arch a brow imperiously, her fingers rubbing together just past the arm of her seat. “And your opinion of me?”

 

“When I was a young man, I heard a story about a baby born during the worst storm in living memory. She had no wealth, no lands, no army, only a name and a handful of supporters, most of whom probably thought they could use that name to benefit themselves” Tyrion started, watching as her jaw clenched. “They kept her alive, moving her from place to place, often hours ahead of the men who had been sent to kill her. She was eventually sold off to some warlord on the edge of the world and that appeared to be that.”

 

It was difficult, hearing her life’s story being summarized so simply, so impersonally by someone she didn’t know.

 

Jaime shifted at her side, and she blinked rapidly, hearing Tyrion continue.

 

“And then a few years later, the most well-informed person I knew told me that this girl without wealth, lands, or armies had somehow acquired all three in a very short span of time, along with three dragons. He thought she was our best, last chance to build a better world.” Tyrion tilted his head to the side some, motioning to her. “I thought you were worth meeting at the very least.”    
  
“And why are  _ you _ worth meeting?” Daenerys shot back at him. “Why should I spend my time listening to you?”   
  
Tyrion answered before Jaime could step in to defend him, giving his brother a look. He needed to be the one to convince Daenerys, not rest on his brother’s merits. “Because you cannot build a better world on your own. You have Jaime at your side, yes, but he doesn’t understand the strengths and weaknesses of the houses you wish to rule in the same way that I do. He can tell you everything of their armies- but not of  _ them _ . Not the way I can.”   
  
Daenerys tilted her chin up. “I have a very large army and very large dragons.”   
  
“Killing and politics aren’t always the same thing.” Tyrion said, watching her. “When I served as Hand of the King, I did quite well with the latter, considering the king in question preferred torturing animals to leading his people. I could do an even better job advising a ruler worth the name.”

 

“You’re learning.”

 

Tyrion froze at that.

 

It couldn’t be.

 

His shock was clear on his face as he slowly turned, his breath hitching as he saw Tywin enter the room. He’d taken Jaime’s offer of a specially made vest, showing the billowing sleeves of his undershirt, pulled tight at the wrists.

 

“I killed you.” Tyrion said flatly.

 

Tywin looked to him. “You attempted.”

 

Tyrion’s breathing was picking up some, and he looked up at Jaime in confusion. Jaime gave him a sympathetic look, before moving down off the dais, standing between the two of them. “Father.” he said, looking to him.

 

Tyrion looked to Daenerys. “Why is he here?” he asked.

 

“I’m one of her advisors.” Tywin replied.

 

Daenerys couldn’t really deny that, though that he answered for her annoyed her. “You are a guest I took advice from  _ once _ .” she clarified. “Do not presume to speak for me again.”

 

Tywin arched a brow at that, before giving a shallow bow.

 

Tyrion blinked at the way he just- accepted that. He didn’t bite back or glare or…

 

He swallowed hard, looking back to Daenerys, trying to catch his breath.

 

Jaime cut in quickly. “Let’s have our reunion in a moment. We still have the matter of Ser Jorah.” he reminded them all, and everyone’s gaze turned to the knight.

 

He blinked, before speaking cautiously. “Are we allied with the Lannisters now?”

 

Daenerys set her jaw again, staring at the space above him. “ _ I  _ am allied with select Lannisters. They are my family, through my brother.”

 

Jorah looked to Jaime, swallowing hard, his eyes narrowing. “Khaleesi-”

 

“Do not call me that. Don’t speak to me.” Daenerys said, her voice dripping with her anger, before she cut her gaze to Tyrion. “You wish to advise me?” she asked. “What would you do with him? I swore I would kill him if he ever returned.”

 

Jorah swallowed hard, looking up at her. He didn’t argue, didn’t fight back, which only made it worse. She could order his death right now, and she knew Jorah wouldn’t argue, so long as she was the last thing he saw.

 

“I know.” Tyrion said.

 

“Why should the people trust a Queen that can’t keep her promises?”

 

The words gave her away, her reluctance to harm Jorah, her wish not to.

 

Tyrion blinked rapidly, trying to reorient himself, looking to Jorah, before clearing his throat and stepping forward, up the steps.

 

The guards readied their spears, but Daenerys waved them off impatiently, focusing her gaze on him.

 

Tyrion glanced back at his father, before straightening his shoulders, swallowing hard, speaking as if he wasn’t dirty and beaten. As if his father wasn’t watching.

 

“Whomever Ser Jorah was when he started informing on you, he is no longer that man. I can’t remember seeing a man as devoted to anything as he is to serving you. He claims he would kill for you and die for you, and nothing I have witnessed gives me reason to doubt him-” He paused, looking to Jorah, before glancing to the floor, taking a breath. When he looked back up, he focused his gaze on Daenerys. “And yet he did betray you.”

 

She gave a short nod, spinning her signet ring to avoid fidgeting.

 

“Did he have an opportunity to confess his betrayals?”

 

She nodded, her lips quivering a bit, turning her gaze to Jorah, her eyes wet with gathering tears, lip curled in hurt. “Yes. Many opportunities.”

 

“And did he?”

 

“No. Not until forced to do so.”

 

Tyrion sighed through his nose, before continuing. “He worships you. He is in love with you, I think. But he did not trust you with the truth. An unpleasant truth, to be sure, but one of great significance to you. He did not trust that you would be wise enough to forgive him.”

 

Daenerys felt her heart twist at his word, inhaling sharply, her eyes burning. “So I should kill him?”

 

Tyrion shook his head. “A ruler who kills those that are devoted to her is not a ruler that inspires devotion. And you’re going to need to inspire devotion, and lots of it, if you’re ever going to rule across the Narrow Sea.”

 

“But you cannot have him by your side when you do.”

 

Daenerys exhaled shakily, tilting her chin up. It was taking everything she had not to cry, her chin shaking just a touch before she spoke. “Get him out of my city.”

 

Tyrion swallowed hard, turning to look at Jorah, seeing his lashes wet as he watched Daenerys, the guards pulling him back and out of the room.

 

When he was gone, Daenerys blinked rapidly, breathing hard through her nose a moment, before looking to the Lannister men at the base of the steps. “Go. Have your reunion.” she said simply, turning and leaving the room, Missandei following her quickly.

 

Jaime swallowed hard.

 

“Let’s… go to your rooms, Father.” he offered, not enjoying the thought of what he was about to endure.


	24. Chapter 24

Tyrion didn’t ask as he moved past Jaime, going directly to the wine, pouring the glass full until it almost over flowed, taking a long moment to just drink it down.

 

“Tyrion-” Tywin started.

 

The man cut him off with a quick ‘tch’, putting his finger up, not looking at him. Pouring a second glass, he chugged that one down as quickly as the first.

 

Jaime moved forward, pulling the jug of wine out of his hands, setting it down on the desk. “Stop.” he said firmly. “If we’re having this conversation, we’re having it while you can talk.” he said.

 

“I don’t want to have this conversation at all.” Tyrion shot back at him. “I want to drink until I pass out and wake back up so that I can drink until I pass out again.”

 

Tywin gave a long suffering sigh, moving forward and taking a seat, having to move slowly as he lowered himself, his shoulder twinging in pain.

 

“Oh I’m sorry- does my presence  _ bother  _ you, Father?” Tyrion snapped at the man.

 

“On the contrary.” Tywin said, watching. “I’m glad you arrived safe. You’ve been rather delayed.”

 

Tyrion laughed, the sound forced and humorless. “Glad?!” he said. “You tried to have me killed. I can’t imagine how disappointed you must be right now.”

 

Jaime cut in quickly. “He had you pardoned. I helped you escape before he had a chance to reveal his plan.” he said.

 

“I’ll believe that when I see the pardon.” Tyrion snapped.

 

Tywin looked to Jaime, who gave a sigh, moving to the red chest. He hesitated as he opened it, looking to the older letters, seeing handwriting he didn’t recognize. He couldn’t help his curiosity still being there about them.

 

Picking up the pardon, still sealed, he closed the chest, and turned. Tyrion stared at him, before holding out his hand. “You’re shitting me.” he said flatly.

 

Jaime shrugged some, passing it over.

 

Tyrion spent a moment, scrutinizing the seal, before cracking it open and unfurling the long parchment.

 

“I, Tommen Baratheon, First of my Name, blah blah blah- hereby pardon Tyrion Lannister of all crimes-” he fell silent as he continued to read, looking for caveats, for what restrictions would have been placed on him, what punishment would be there- and found none.

 

Tywin was waiting silently, his eyes still on the man.

 

“Well?” he asked.

 

Tyrion looked up at him. “You wanted me  _ dead _ . Why would you bother?”

 

Tywin arched a brow. “If I wanted you dead, it wouldn’t have been such a public spectacle. Unlike your sister, I have no affection for messy theatrics.”

 

Tyrion snorted hard at that, tossing the paper onto the table. “And you didn’t think that  _ perhaps _ you should inform us as to your plans?” he asked bitterly. “Does it give you some sort of sick pleasure to torture me? I killed your wife, so now my entire life has to be some form of suffering?”

 

Jaime went still at that, looking to Tywin.

 

Tywin looked uncomfortable, meeting Jaime’s gaze, his throat tight. It was one thing, to have to explain things to Jaime. Jaime was honorable and occasionally stubborn, but he was kind, understanding, obedient- Tyrion and Tywin had always been at odds. As long as he could remember, they had been at odds.

 

Tyrion noticed the silence, staring at Jaime, then to Tywin. “ _ What _ ?” he asked hoarsely. “What great secret are you both holding now?”

 

Jaime swallowed, looking to Tywin again, before giving a frustrated noise. “You didn’t-”   
  
Tywin cut him off. “Jaime.”

 

Falling silent again, Jaime shook his head some. “If you don’t tell him, I will.” he said firmly.

 

They were both staring at their Father now, Tywin looking undeniably tense and uncomfortable. He took a deep breath, before nodding a bit. “You didn’t kill Joanna.” he said. “She fell from her horse. Infection took her.”

 

Tyrion looked as if his mind had just stopped working, his hands braced on the edge of the table. “You  _ lied _ about that?” he asked, breathless.

 

Was the room spinning or was it just him?

 

Tywin gave a short nod. “I did. To protect us.”

 

“To- how does lying about my birth protect anyone?” Tyrion snapped angrily, staring at him. “How does calling me a  _ murderer _ help anyone?!”

 

Tywin flinched some, before inhaling through his nose, a deep, bracing breath. “Because I gave birth to you, three days later.” he said flatly. “If I had told the truth, our family would have been ruined. If I could have spared you it-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Tywin arched a brow, looking at Tyrion. The man was staring at the table, his hands tight on the edge of it, knuckles white.

 

“Tyrion-”

 

“I said shut up.” His voice was low, anger bleeding through it so clearly that it made the hairs on Jaime’s neck stand up.

 

Silence stretched for a long moment, Tyrion just standing there, breathing hard, shaking his head some.

 

“My entire life-” he said finally, “I have been tormented. Blamed. Cersei has beat and tortured and ridiculed me, for years.  _ You _ have disrespected and punished me at every available moment. All for a crime- a crime that you are now telling me I did not commit.”

 

He looked up at Tywin, his eyes hard.

 

“Which one of us is the monster now?” he hissed. “Me? The dwarf. A drunken lecher. Or you? A sadistic prick that allowed his son to be tortured his entire life, to protect  _ your _ secret.”

 

Tywin was quiet, watching him, his hand tight on the arm of his chair. “Tyrion-”

 

“Don’t. Don’t speak to me. You could have stopped, at any time. You could have protected me from Cersei, you could have told me, in private.  _ You _ could have at  _ least _ treated me well.” he hissed. “You didn’t.”

 

Tyrion looked to Jaime, his hands shaking. “Which rooms are to be mine?” he asked. “I need to get away from him.”

 

Jaime nodded some. “I don’t know, but mine are just down the hall. You can stay there until Missandei lets us know where you’ll be.” he said, moving to the door. Tyrion didn’t wait, leaving the room as quickly as he could, marching down without asking Jaime which were his.

 

Jaime looked back at his father, hesitant, but Tywin shook his head some, waving him off.

 

He needed to be alone.

 

Closing the door, Jaime sighed hard, leading Tyrion to his suite, opening the door and letting the man go right for his wine. He didn’t even try to warn him off of it.

 

“How long have  _ you  _ known?” Tyrion rasped, spilling just as much wine as made it into the cup. His hands were shaking.

 

“Not long. He told me when he arrived, a little while ago.” he said softly. “We’ve been a bit busy, trying to keep the city from tearing itself apart. I haven’t sat down and discussed it all with him.”

 

Tyrion shook his head. “Of course not- after all, it’s not that  _ important  _ now is it?”

 

“Tyrion-”

 

“No, no. You’re right. That was uncalled for.” Tyrion said with a sigh, draining his glass. “Out of everyone I’ve ever known, you are the only person I can say for sure has cared for me without any worry as to what it gets him.”

 

He turned, looking to Jaime, swallowing hard. “I’m not entirely sure I understand this entire situation. If I didn’t- If I didn’t  _ kill  _ Mother, then  _ why _ has he always been so cruel to me?” he admitted, his voice breaking.

 

Jaime moved forward instantly, pushing the wine away to kneel, pulling Tyrion into his arms, all but crushing him with the hug. “I’m sorry.” he said softly. “I can’t speak for Father- but you have never deserved any of this. Even if Mother  _ had _ died in childbirth, that still wouldn’t have been your fault, and you  _ still  _ wouldn’t have deserved what’s happened to you.”

 

Tyrion didn’t respond verbally, his arms wrapping around Jaime as best he could, clinging to his shirt as he sobbed into his shoulder, not even trying to mask it.

 

Jaime shifted, kissing his hair gently. “I have you-” he murmured softly. “You’re safe, and you’re here, with me. Just- let it out.”

 


	25. Chapter 25

Tyrion sat with a frown, picking up the jug and pouring them both a glass.

 

Daenerys kept her eyes on him, watching how quickly he drank it down. He had had a difficult life. She’d heard some from Jaime, but not nearly enough to feel she knew the man sitting across from her.

 

“So- have you decided if I’m worthy of serving?” she asked.

 

Tyrion hummed a touch. “Have you decided if I stay?”

 

“I don’t think that decision is in question. If I said no, your brother would leave as well- and I’ve named him Prince. After all, our father was King.” she said, cradling the glass in her hands.

 

“And what a king he was.” Tyrion said, shaking his head a bit. “I can’t imagine Jaime is taking this well.”

 

Daenerys was quiet for a moment, before exhaling heavily. “He’s not.” she said with a frown, watching her wine as she swirled her cup. “Has he spoken to you about it?”

 

Tyrion looked to her, before draining the last of his glass, setting the cup down with a click, dragging the jug closer once more. “No. He spent last night consoling me over the miraculous resurrection of our father.”

 

“You don’t get along.” Daenerys observed.

 

Laughing outright at that, Tyrion shook his head. “That’s the understatement of the century. He sentenced me to death for a crime he committed. Jaime told me everything last night.” He clenched his jaw for a moment, before sighing some. “And then he had me pardoned for it. I don’t- I don’t understand him.”

 

There was silence for some time, before Daenerys sighed and nodded. “I don’t either. I doubt anyone ever will. Barristan spoke- I wouldn’t say highly of him, but he certainly had respect for the man.”

 

Tyrion gave a slight shrug. “He’s effective. I wouldn’t insult him by saying that he doesn’t know how to rule the Kingdoms. He’s just a terrible father. Questionably, a terrible person.”

 

Daenerys took a sip at that. “He wasn’t wrong.” she said after a moment. “He has advised me. His advice isn’t bad. But he won’t be my Hand. Calling him my advisor is neither accurate nor false.”

 

Tyrion hummed. “It would be a waste of a resource, not to ask his opinion, even if you don’t follow or respect it.” he admitted grudgingly. He tapped his fingers against the glass he was holding, trying to find words, to explain what was running through his mind.

 

“So- here we sit.” he said, looking at her. “Two terrible children of terrible fathers.”

 

Daenerys gave him a slightly amused look. “I’m terrible?” she asked.

 

Tyrion tilted his head a bit to the side. “I’ve heard stories.”

 

“Why did you travel to the other side of the world to meet someone terrible?” Daenerys pressed. “Jaime said that he was traveling ahead of you, with the intention of you meeting me.”

 

Tyrion smirked a bit. “To see if you were the  _ right _ kind of terrible.”

 

“Which kind is that?”

 

Tyrion fidgeted in his seat a touch, getting more comfortable. It was a relief to be washed, wearing clothing that fit. It certainly made conversations like this only a dash less uncomfortable. “The kind that prevents your people from being even more so.”

 

Daenerys huffed a touch, looking out towards the privacy screens the shielded them from the hot afternoon sun. “I did reopen the fighting pits. Under my rule, murder will once again become entertainment.”

 

Tywin nodded. “Yes, that was wise. And, you’ve agreed to marry someone you loathe for the greater good. Very impressive. My own sister married someone she loathed as well, though not by choice and certainly not for the greater good, Gods forbid.” He paused, before giving a considering look. “She ended up having him killed.”

 

Daenerys’s other brow raised to join the first. “Perhaps it won’t come to that.”

 

Regarding her  for a long moment, Tyrion raised his glass. “It’s not impossible that Varys was right about you after all.”

 

Daenerys looked surprised, sitting back a touch. “Varys? Robert Baratheon’s spymaster?”

 

Tyrion pointed at her around his glass. “That’s the one. He convinced me to come find you. He was my traveling companion, before Ser Jorah seized the role for himself.”

 

“Jorah sent my secrets to Varys. For twenty years, the Spider oversaw the campaign to find and kill me.”

 

“One thing you’ll learn about life under Aerys and Robert- even more so with Joffrey- is that people did what they had to, to survive.” Tyrion said after a moment. “I’m also guilty of some rather… unpleasant deeds. I suspect that Varys is the reason you weren’t murdered in your crib.”

 

“So, you trust him?” she pressed.

 

Tyrion looked to her, before giving a short nod. “He may be the only person I trust, beside my brother.”

 

Daenerys sipped her wine some. “He’s a good man.” she said after a moment. “I can see why you trust him.”

 

That gave Tyrion a moment of pause, looking up at her. There was something  _ knowing _ there, that made her quickly look away. “You two have gotten close in the weeks I was delayed.”

 

“We’re siblings.”

 

“Oh, of course. Forgive me. How could I have forgotten- you’re Targaryens. Closeness is expected.”

 

Daenerys choked on her wine, giving him a light hearted glare and shaking her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

Tyrion was smirking at her over the rim of his glass, not answering right away. 

 

Daenerys smiled some, before tapping her fingers against the arm of her chair. “So, you wish to advise me.” she said, turning the conversation back where it belonged. “Advise me.” She reached out, taking the glass from him before he could pour another cup, setting it out of reach. “While you can still talk in complete sentences.”

 

“Advise you? On what?” he asked.

 

“How to get what I want.”

 

Tyrion sighed heavily. “The Iron Throne- perhaps you should try wanting something else.”

 

“If I wanted jokes, I would get a proper fool.” Daenerys bit back. 

 

“I’m not entirely joking.” Tyrion defended, before shifting in his seat some, leaning forward and putting his hands together as he watched her. “You’ve changed countless lives here, for the better. Perhaps this is where you belong, where you can do the most good.”

 

Daenerys felt her throat tighten some, before standing, shaking her head some. “I fought, so that no child born into Slaver’s Bay will know what it’s like to be bought or sold. I will continue that fight, here and beyond- but this is not my home. It’s never felt like home.”

 

“And when you go back home? Who supports you? No one loves the Lannisters- and now that Tywin doesn’t own Casterly, no one loves his money.”

 

Daenerys’s brow furrowed some. “The common people.”

 

Tyrion gave her a look. “Let’s be generous and assume that’s going to happen. Here in Slaver’s Bay, you had the support of the common people and only the common people. What was that like, ruling without the rich?” He paused, letting her think on it, before continuing. “House Targaryen is gone, the support of one brother is not nearly enough. The Starks are gone as well, our two terrible fathers saw to that. The remaining Lannisters left in Westeros won’t support you, not ever. Stannis Baratheon won’t back you either, his entire claim to the Throne depends on the illegitimacy of yours. That leaves the Tyrells. Not impossible... but not enough.”

 

Daenerys walked closer to the window, her hands together, rubbing at the side of her thumb some. “Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell.” She repeated, like a mantra. “They’re all just spokes on a wheel. This one's on top, then that one’s on top and on and on it spins, crushing the people on the ground.”

 

Tyrion watched her. “It’s a beautiful dream. Stopping the wheel. You’re not the first person to have dreamt it.”

 

Daenerys stopped, turning and looking to him. “I’m not going to stop the wheel. I’m going to break the wheel.”

 

Tyrion’s eyes widened a bit, and he smiled slowly. “I’d drink to that, but you took the wine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! <3
> 
> As always, comments are SUPER appreciated! They help me keep writing!
> 
> Update, as well! I have some art work I have to catch up on, so for a while, I'm going to go down to updating Wednesdays only! I apologize, but it'll be a huge load off my plate. <3 Thanks for understanding!


	26. Chapter 26

Looking to Tormund, Jon took a deep breath, the icy air biting at him.

 

Standing in the boat, he took the man’s hand, feeling the pull onto the dock. Tormund was impressively strong, built thick and tall.

 

Jon had to admit a bit of jealousy to it.

 

He could work his entire life on just his body, and he’d never have a physique quite like Tormund’s.

 

“You trust me, Jon Snow?” the man asked, turning to look at the wildlings that gathered at the end of the docks.

 

Jon was going to have a migraine by the end of this, with how often he found himself clenching his jaw. “Does that make me a fool?” he asked.

 

Tormund chuckled, before shaking his head and moving forward. “We are fools together now.”

 

Walking forward over the old dock, Jon could feel the creaking of the boards under him. He kept his hands away from his blade, not looking back to see if the others followed.

 

“Lord of Bones. Been a while.” Tormund said, his voice tense. The situation clearly wasn’t a friendly one, Jon hadn’t been stupid enough to believe it would be.

 

The man looked past Tormund, before shifting back a bit. “Last time I saw you, the little crow was your prisoner.” Jon bristled a bit at that. Always his height. Why was it always his height? “Other way round now. What happened?”

 

Tormund’s jaw flexed, and he tilted his head to the side some. “War.”

 

The bones stitched to his clothing clicked as the Lord of Bones moved. “You call that war? The greatest army the North has ever seen, cut to pieces by some southern king?” He shook his head hard, his grip on his staff.

 

Tormund looked to the sky a moment, before shifting his hands on his belt. “We should gather the Elders. Find a quiet place to talk.”

 

“You don’t give the orders here.”

 

“I’m not giving an order.” Tormund said instantly. 

 

The Lord of Bones looked him over, before speaking slowly. “Why aren’t  _ you _ in chains?”

 

Jon spoke up. “He’s not my prisoner. None of the Free Folk are.”

 

“Oh? What is he?”

 

Jon looked to Tormund, before swallowing hard. “We’re allies.”

 

Tormund tensed, the ginger looking back at Jon, before turning his gaze back to the Lord of Bones..

 

“You fucking traitor!” The Lord of Bones snarled. “You fight for the Crows now!”

 

“I don’t fight for the Crows.” Tormund spat back instantly.

 

This was going downhill fast. Jon stepped forward some, trying to salvage it. “We’re not here to fight. We’re here to talk.” he placated.

 

The Lord of Bones looked at him, before looked over to Tormund, spreading his arms. “Is that right? You and the pretty crow do a lot of talking, Tormund? And when you’re done talking, do you get down on your knees and suck his cock-”

 

Tormund lunged forward, yanking the staff from his hand. He didn’t hesitate as he slammed it down across the man’s shoulders, knocking him into the muddy snow. The crowd went silent as Tormund struck again and again, the Lord of Bones trying to cover his head with his arms, curled in on himself in the muck.

 

Jon didn’t try to stop it, watching as Tormund took his frustration and anger out on the downed man for a long moment, before he straightened and threw the staff to the ground.

 

Looking up at the crowd, his face flushed still, Tormund spoke. “Gather the Elders. And let’s talk.”

 

Moving to follow him through the crowd, Jon couldn’t help the slight raise of his brows as he stepped over the injured man. He couldn’t claim that wasn’t a  _ touch _ satisfying to watch.

 

\---

 

Cold.

 

The Wall was cold. The boat ride had been cold. Standing before the fire, talking to the Elders, it was still fucking cold.

 

And then it wasn’t just cold. It was fucking freezing, like the North itself had suddenly changed. Had grown more hostile.

 

And then the screams had started.

 

Jon’s heart was pounding in throat as he moved, Longclaw in his hand as he fought through the press of bodies.

 

For once, he wasn’t cold.

 

His blood felt like he was on fire as he spun, slamming his sword through a dead man, hearing the clack of his teeth as it lunged forward, spearing itself farther down his blade. Kicking at its legs, Jon sent it to the ground, moving onto the neck, its skull cracking under his boot.

 

Dodging under a blow from another Wight, Jon grit his teeth, grunting hard as he struck.

 

He wasn’t sure what made him more uncomfortable. The feel of a sword blow as it cut through nothing but bone and fabric, no meat to block its path- or the sound of bones as they crumbled to the ground like a macabre windchime.

 

He didn’t have time to focus on it, however, struggling his way through the mud and snow, reaching the gate, already winded.

 

Slamming his blade into one of the Wight, he pinned him to the door, spinning to look at Tormund. “The sleigh!” he cried. “Get the sleigh!”

 

Tormund nodded his understanding, throwing the logs out of the sled, hoisting it up with the help of two others. Jon yanked his blade free, the sled slamming over the hole the Wights had been climbing through, blocking the path for them, here at least.

 

Backing up some, he panted for breath, shaking his head some. 

 

People were screaming around him, and he turned, seeing Wights dragging one of his own to the ground, the Crow screaming out as their fingers dug into his ribs, ripping them open.

 

It was overwhelming.

 

No matter where he looked, there was too much happening to understand it all. He heard metal clashing, screaming and screeching. Someone cried for help, but he couldn’t tell where it came from, spinning back.

 

And then, as if called to it, he looked up at the cliff.

 

Tormund stood beside him, breathing hard as the fog cleared some. There were shapes at the top of the cliffside, four horses, with the dead riding them.

 

Jon couldn’t breathe. “The dragonglass-” he said absently, numbly. The words helped him focus, giving him a goal. “The dragonglass!” he shouted, throwing his arm out, to motion to the cabin.

 

The Thenn to his side, what was his name? Loboda. That was it-

 

Loboda moved forward, hoisting his axe up. “You’re with me, lad! Now!” he ordered, leading the charge in.

 

Jon moved, his blade cutting through the air, feet sliding and digging into the mud as he moved, lungs burning, muscles aching. If he stopped moving, he would die.

 

The cabin creaked, the smell of burning wood and flesh hitting Jon, the cold making the scent that much sharper. It collapsed as Wun Wun broke free of it, Wights clinging to his clothing, trying to climb along his body.

 

Ripping them down, the giant tore them in half, stomping others into the mud with a loud cry.

 

Loboda swallowed hard, before charging into the ruins of the building, looking around, fire surrounding them both, thick smoke making it hard to breathe.

 

There were footsteps, and the looked up, to the back of the cabin, watching as a tall figure cut through the smoke.

 

A White Walker.

 

He didn’t seem scared of the flames that licked at him, his staff of ice clenched tight in one hand, advancing on them easily, as if he had all the time in the world.

 

And why wouldn’t he? White Walkers didn’t die, and he wouldn’t be in this cabin long, Jon was sure of it.

 

“Get the glass!” Loboda ordered, moving forward, adjusting his grip on his axe. Swinging hard, he missed the first blow, and Jon wrenched his gaze away, rushing to get the glass.

 

He didn’t see it, but he heard it when the spear hit Loboda. The rush of air from him was an unmistakable sound, and Jon grit his teeth, reaching for the glass, the bag of it open and wedged between fallen logs.

 

The hand that hit his back knocked a grunt from him, gripping his shirt and cloak hard, wrenching him back and sending him flying.

 

Jon didn’t have time to orient himself, his shoulders hitting the ground below hard. His ears were ringing as he wheezed, struggling to breath, turning on his side. Opening and closing his mouth like a dying fish, as if it would help his lungs fill, Jon slowly turned to his side, eyes wide, his head spinning.

 

Longclaw wasn’t in his hand, he registered that as he moved onto his knees. The next thing he realized, was that he heard the spear cutting through the air.

 

Dodging under it, his knees still weak, still winded as he scrambled for the exit desperately. He needed a sword.

 

Sliding in the mud, he hit his knee off the ground again, his hand falling onto the hilt of a sword.

 

He spun, swinging it up to block the next blow from the Walker.

 

The ice hit the edge of the blade hard enough to jar Jon’s shoulder, and his eyes widened, seeing the metal freeze and shatter, a piece cutting across his cheek.

 

Throwing the handle at the Walker, he forced himself into moving again.

 

Keep moving, or die.

 

It was like hearing his father’s words in his mind. When you’re in a battle, there are two rules to hold fast to- keep your blade in your hand, and keep moving. If you forget either of those- you die.

 

He needed to grab Longclaw.

 

It was so close to him, the ivory wolf a stark contrast to the blood sodden mud, Jon almost sobbing with relief when the hilt hit his palm.

 

It wasn’t a moment too soon, either, Jon spinning, low on the ground and knowing that would be his doom as the spear slashed down at him. Metal clashed-

 

And Longclaw held fast.

 

It sounded like it was singing, a warped harmonic as the blades strained against one another, the Walker and he both staring at the place they met.

 

Jon moved fast, thrusting up and out, forcing the spear back. The Walker growled, hands shifting on his spear, lifting the blade to bring it down again.

 

Jon cut across his gut while his stance was open, taking the only chance he’d get, the Valyrian steel biting through his leather like it was nothing. And in a breath the Walker was shards on the ground, just like the blade that had shattered.

 

Falling back into the mud, Jon stared at the shards of ice on the ground, before looking up, seeing the Night King staring down at him. He was too far away to truly see, but Jon  _ knew _ that he was staring at it. It made his heart beat in fear, ice crawling through his veins.

 

Jon turned, crawling through the mud, trying to get to his feet and continuously failing, his feet slipping and sliding through the muck. His chest was burning, unable to get a good breath, dizzy and feeling broken.

 

Coughing hard, he could taste blood, shaking his head desperately.

 

A hand touched his arm and Jon lifted Longclaw, the blade touching against Edd’s neck. Blinking desperately, making sure that it was really him, Jon gave a sigh of relief, leaning into him for support.

 

“The dragonglass-” he started.

 

Edd looked to the burning building, before snarling out- “Fuck the dragonglass!” he said, hauling Jon to his feet fully, dragging him back towards the docks. “We’re going to die here!”

 

There was a high pitched screech and both men froze, turning and staring up to the top of the cliff.

 

The Walkers were gone from the edge, instead, Jon watched as a single skeletal figure charged the edge, free falling through the air.

 

It hit the ground with a sickening thud.

 

And then there was another, and another, many more coming too fast to track. An avalanche of the dead pouring over the cliff, foregoing the siege on the gates as they dropped into the camp.

 

When one moved, looking up at Jon, he patted Edd’s chest quickly, pulling him back to the moment, turning and sprinting for the docks.

 

“Go! Go! Go!” Jon shouted, catching Tormund’s attention as he gestured to the sea.

 

Tormund joined them along the way, his axe in one hand as he rushed to the docks with them.

 

Looking to the side, the three saw Wun Wun, the ground shuddering under his feet as he swung a burning log, clearing the path to the water for them.

 

Tormund shouted over the battle, his voice carrying. “Wun Wun! To the sea!” he cried out.

 

Jon saw the boat at the end of the dock, the Crows inside, waiting for them, crying out for them to hurry. He didn’t wait, all but leaping into it, feeling it rock on the water as Edd and Tormund scrambled in beside him.

 

They turned as the Crow at the oars moved, watching with bated breath as Wun Wun ripped Wights from his body, the dock shuddering under his weight, water splashing with the dead as he made his way into the sea, to safety.

 

And then the screaming stopped.

 

It was silent.

 

Jon stared in horror at the shore line, Tormund standing beside him with tears in his eyes. They couldn’t see the beach, it was too covered in bodies.

 

How many were dead?

 

The Night King moved forward, Jon’s eyes falling to him, watching him move forward. He was like staring at a nightmare made flesh, his blue eyes burning like gems as he slowly lifted his hands.

 

Jon would never forget it, the way that the bodies jerked, how they twitched, and then-

 

The dead rose.

 

Thousands of Wildlings staring back at him, eyes blue and shining, turning and falling in line.

 

Meat for the army.

 

He hadn’t saved them.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been getting a *lot* of nasty comments lately, and I'm thinking about turning off the anon-commenting if it continues. If the option suddenly disappears, I apologize to anyone that's no longer able to comment, because the support really does keep my writing.
> 
> I'm not going to let hate stop me from writing something I love, however, and I'm going to keep on with this story. As always, comment moderation is on, and all hate will be deleted with extreme prejudice.
> 
> Thank you for reading my story guys, I'm so glad you all enjoy it- and to the haters? Thanks for boosting my hit stats <3

Jaime listened as Tywin read out the raven scroll, his hand braced against the table, staring at it. “What?” he asked, his voice breathless.

 

Tywin glanced to him, before sighing. “Queen Mother Cersei Lannister has been arrested by the Faith Militant for the crimes of incest, adultery, perjury, and the murder of King Robert. She has confessed to incest and adultery with Lancel Lannister, and has made her Walk of Atonement and is now confined to the Red Keep.” he read aloud, before dropping that scroll and moving to read the next in silence, his hands white knuckled on the parchment.

 

“What the hell is a Walk of Atonement?” Jaime asked, his voice low and angry.

 

Tyrion shook his head. “The scrolls don’t say, I don’t know, Jaime.”

 

Daenerys looked to the man, her jaw tight, seeing how angry he looked. She swallowed some. “Jaime-”

 

“I should be there with her. Protecting her.” Jaime said, his hand clenched into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm. “She’s- how could Tommen allow this? He’s King. One word, and the Kingsguard, the City Watch- would slaughter all those fanatics in second.”

 

“She allowed the Sparrows into the city, and armed them.” Tywin said firmly. “Attacking them, with both the Queen and the Queen Mother in custody would mean war. Tommen is soft. Kind as he is, he doesn’t have the stomach to do what needs to be done.”

 

Jaime looked to him, a choked noise leaving him. “We have to help her-” he started.

 

Tywin’s jaw clenched some. “We’re fugitives, across the sea. There is no help we can offer, except asylum, should she wish to join us here.”

 

“He’s right.” Tyrion said. “We can not charge off to King’s Landing, where all three of us are wanted men, to steal Cersei away from the Red Keep. Not when we’re needed here so desperately.”

 

Jaime closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before nodding. “What’s next? There’s more than one scroll there.”

 

Tywin hesitated, before looking to Tyrion. 

 

Tyrion clenched his jaw. He hated when that he had to stand here beside the man, that he had to pretend to be alright with this. “What?” he snapped.

 

Tywin sighed. “Jaime.” he said simply. The man looked to him. “Sit down.”

 

Daenerys looked to him, her frown only deepening, moving a touch closer. How bad was the news?

 

Tywin looked to the paper, before opening his mouth, inhaling hard before speaking. “The Princess Myrcella is dead. Assassinated by the Sand Snakes of Dorn. Her body has been returned to King’s Landing, with the apologies of Prince Doran.”

 

Jaime dropped into the seat he had ignored a moment ago, staring blankly at the table, tears blurring his vision.

 

That couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be.

 

“Dead? My girl is-” he choked out, his breath picking up.

 

Daenerys was at his side in a second, cupping the side of his cheek, her thumb swiping away the tears on his cheeks. “Shh- Jaime, I’m right here.” she said softly.

 

Jaime leaned into her touch, giving a broken sob, reaching up to cling to her arms. Shaking his head, he shifted, leaning in against her shoulder, not caring who saw him like this. Not right now.

 

Tyrion felt like he’d been punched in the gut, reaching out and bracing his hands on the table, watching Jaime break down and not even sure he had it in him to cry anymore.

 

There was a clink of glass, and Tyrion blinked rapidly, looking to the glass of wine that Tywin sat before him, the man looking somber and drawn. “Father?” he asked, his voice strained.

 

“Just drink.” he said. “I dare say this small council meeting is over.” he said, looking to him.

 

Tyrion’s brow furrowed some, before he nodded, and took the glass, downing the wine as Tywin set the bottle before him.

 

\---

 

Daenerys sighed as she stood outside of Jaime’s door. He’d stayed in his rooms through dinner, and she could understand why. It wasn’t fair, what had happened.

 

He must feel so helpless, here, across the sea. Unable to help as those he love are hurt.

 

She closed her eyes a moment, before knocking, balancing a plate of food with her other hand. She hadn’t thought Jaime would want a servant to see him like this.

 

When no one responded, she sighed and knocked again. “Jaime- it’s me.” she said gently.

 

The door opened a crack, and she put her hand to the wood, entering. He didn’t have any candles going, and she frowned a bit, moving into the room, using the moonlight to guide her path. “Jaime-” Daenerys started, putting the food on the table.

 

He closed the door behind her, before passing to the balcony, taking his place at the banister again, staring out at the stars.

 

“The Great Games are tomorrow.” he said, swallowing hard. “Missandei dropped off the new circlet you had made for me. It’s nice.”

 

Daenerys moved out into the night air with him, taking the place beside him, resting her hands on the stone, beside his one. “You don’t have to come.” she said softly. “I understand if you can’t.”

 

Jaime closed his eyes. “I’ll be there. At your side.” he said, before looking to her, his hand slipping over, taking her and giving a gentle squeeze. “I can’t fly across the ocean and rescue Cersei. I can’t  _ stop _ bad things from happening to the people I love in Westeros. But I can stop bad things from happening to you, Daenerys. I can keep you safe here.”

 

She bit her bottom lip, before giving his hand a squeeze, shifting to lean in against his shoulder. “Thank you.” she said softly. “I know how difficult this must be for you- that you care for me so deeply is… it means a lot.”

 

Jaime shifted, watching her, before letting go of her hand and taking a step back, keeping himself from doing something rash.

 

“You didn’t have to bring me food. You could have sent a servant.”

 

Daenerys smiled at him. “No, I couldn’t have. You wouldn’t have opened the door.”

 

Jaime laughed at that, shaking his head some. “That’s fair.”

 

“Do you want me to light a candle for you?” she asked, looking back into the dark room. “We’re lucky the moon is so bright tonight, or I wouldn’t have been able to avoid spilling your plate.”

 

He moved forward into the room, letting her follow him in as he looked over the desk, finding the flint and steel, offering it over. “Light the fire place, it’ll be easier.”

 

“Are you sure? It’s not that chilly.”

 

He shrugged. “I don’t mind being warm. It might help, honestly.”

 

Daenerys nodded, moving forward and kneeling. “I’ll admit- no one’s taught me how to light my own fire before.” she said.

 

Jaime shook his head, smiling. “Why aren’t I surprised? You’re a Queen, it’s not your job.” he knelt beside her at the fireplace, reaching in to adjust the kindling. “Like this-” he said, showing her how to prop the thin slices of wood over the dried grass. “Then hit the flint with the steel at the base of the grass. The spark will catch it, it catches the thin pieces, they catch the log.”

 

She nodded her understanding, before striking the flint, her nose wrinkling just a touch when it didn’t catch, moving to do it again. It took a few tries, before the grass caught, Daenerys watching with a smile as it smoldered, fire taking shape before her eyes.

 

Jaime leaned in, blowing on it gently, coaxing it higher.

 

“You lit your first fire.” he teased her.

 

Daenerys smiled to him, reaching out, touching his cheek as the fire lit the room. “You helped me.”

 

\----

 

Tyrion opened the door and froze, staring up at the man waiting there, his eyes flicking from his expression, to the wine in Tywin’s hand.

 

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, his hand tight on the door handle.

 

Tywin’s jaw flexed. He had known better than to be greeted with any form of enthusiasm. “My granddaughter has just died.” he said flatly. “I would like to mourn her with someone who loved her.”

 

That made Tyrion pause, and he swallowed thickly, before stepping to the side, letting him in.

 

The slam of the door showed just how happy Tyrion was with his father’s intrusion, but Tywin refused to react to it openly, moving to the table and taking a seat, filling a cup of wine, pushing the wine towards Tyrion as the man took his own seat.

 

There was a tense silence for quite some time, both of them cradling cups of wine, neither of them doing much.

 

Taking a long swallow from the cup, Tywin closed his eyes, sighing heavily. “I don’t like wine.” he admitted after a moment.

 

Tyrion looked up at him. “No? And yet you drink it.”

 

Tywin hummed some. “On occasion.” he said, swirling his glass, watching the wine catch the candle light.

 

The awkward silence captured the room again, and Tyrion shifted uncomfortably, finishing off his glass. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this.

 

“Why are you here?” he asked finally.

 

Tywin looked up at him. “In Meereen?” he asked, arching a brow.

 

Tyrion glared at him some. “No.  _ Here _ . In my room.”

 

His father paused at that, though he’d already known what Tyrion meant. Sighing some, he set down his glass, taking a deep breath.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Tyrion stared at him, setting down his own glass, not even attempting to refill it. His heart was pounding in his ears. Had he heard him correctly? Clenching his jaw for a moment, he forced himself to take a deep breath. “For what?” he pressed.

 

Tywin shook his head some. “Everything.” he said finally. Licking his lips to wet them, Tywin rubbed his fingertips together, studying his hand instead of looking to his son. If he did, he’d stop talking. “You’re right. I haven’t been a good father. I’ve treated you all poorly, but you, most of all.”

 

He closed his eyes a moment, before speaking, cautiously. “You’re wrong, however, as to my emotions. I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.” he shook his head some. “You’re my son. Whether either of us like the other is certainly a question that could be hotly debated, but my actions towards you were not from malicious intent.”

 

Tyrion scoffed at that, though he didn’t honestly know what to think about it. “What was it then?” he asked. “Are you just allergic to affection?”

 

The words were spat out, purposely aiming to cut at Tywin, but the man had been expecting that.

 

“I don’t want forgiveness.” he said. “I won’t make excuses, or defend my actions. I did what I thought was best for the family, for my children. And-  it’s been made explicitly clear now, I was wrong.”

 

“Why are you saying this?” Tyrion choked out, staring at the man. “Why now?”

 

Tywin finally forced himself to look up at Tyrion. “When you shot me,” he started, trying to find the right words. “I honestly didn’t think you would. Not because I thought you a coward, nothing like that. You’ve proven your bravery already.” He huffed a bit. “You’re the smartest of my children, anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Smart and bold.”

 

He shook his head a bit, forcing himself back to the topic at hand. “I thought you wouldn’t shoot me, because I had assumed you’d known I didn’t truly want to see you harmed. That you would just-  _ know _ that despite our differences, I didn’t hate you. That there was enough love there to not have you killed.”

 

“Not killed. Just what? Take the black? Get rid of my once and for all, but not in a way that would smear your reputation, right?” Tyrion said, his voice tight. He couldn’t tell if he was snapping at him just to fight, or not. There was too much hurt there. Believing his words felt impossible.

 

Tywin shook his head. “I had Tommen write the pardon when Cersei arrested you.” he said with a frown. “After the trial, he would have announced it, and I would have sent you off to Casterly, until Cersei’s anger ebbed.”

 

Tywin scoffed. “Casterly? Did the sewers need a touch up?”

 

“The plan you put into place for the sewers was thorough and well done. Just as I knew it would be when I assigned you the duty.” Tywin said evenly, before taking up his glass of wine, taking far too large of a drink to be proper.

 

“I don’t understand you.” Tyrion spat after a moment, leaning forward, putting his head in his hands, pulling at his hair.

 

Tywin sighed. “I don’t blame you.”

 

“What do you want from me?” He asked. “Now that I’m Daenerys’s advisor, I matter? Jaime’s the Prince so you have to treat me well to stay in his good graces?”

 

Thinking it over for a long moment, Tywin looked to him. “I would have died, with my son believing I hated him. That everything I’ve done was done to harm you.” he said finally. “And when I realized that all of my children honestly believed that of me- that I don’t care about you, that you’re disposable or…” he clenched his jaw.

 

“I haven’t been a good father. I can’t take that back. But, I can’t die, letting that be all you know of me.”


	28. Chapter 28

“Free citizens of Meereen! By the blessings of the Graces and her majesty the Queen, welcome to the Great Games!”

 

The announcer was grinning, the Valyrian fast enough that Jaime had trouble keeping up with it. He could recognize a few of the words, but not all of them. It left him feeling a bit out of place still.

 

As if the circlet on his head wasn’t doing that already.

 

Daenerys had insisted on it, on him sitting to the right of her, between Hizdahr and Tyrion- she didn’t want anyone to mistake him for anything but a prince.

 

He was still unsure of it. It felt like a title for anyone but him.

 

Looking to Daenerys, he almost laughed at the look of disgust that she had on, her upper lip curled and nostrils flared.

 

She couldn’t even pretend to be indifferent to this all.

 

The crowd cheered as two gladiators entered the room, and Jaime glanced up at Daario, seeing the excitement there. “You fought in the fighting pits before, didn’t you?” he asked the man.

 

Daario looked to him, grinning and giving a nod. “That I did. I was quite good.”

 

Jaime laughed a bit. “You’re still here, of course you were.”

 

Their attention was called back to the arena as the announcer spoke. “My queen, our first contest. Who will triumph? The strong or the quick?” He motioned to each of the fighters as they were mentioned.

 

“I fight and die for your glory, O Glorious Queen.” the two said, echoing one another.

 

The announcer quickly retreated, leaving the fighters there, watching Daenerys.

 

The anticipation stretched for a long moment, before Hizdahr leaned over. “They’re waiting for you.” he whispered. Daenerys gave him a confused look, shock on her features. What did they need from her? He nodded to her hands. “Clap your hands.”

 

She blinked, before raising her hands, hesitating a moment before finally clapping.

 

It felt like ordering an execution.

 

The fighting started and Daenerys winced at each blow, her jaw tight.

 

Seeing how uncomfortable she was, Daario leaned forward to distract her. “That one, the smaller man- that’s where you should put your money.”

 

Tyrion hummed. “The smaller man it is.” he agreed.

 

Daenerys scoffed, turning to look at him. “I’m not putting my money anywhere.” she defended.

 

Hizdahr cut in, looking at Daario with scorn. “Kings and Queens never bet on games. Perhaps you should go find someone who does.”

 

That made Daenerys raise a brow, looking to him.

 

Daario hummed some before speaking again. “People used to bet against me when I fought in the pits.” He looked to Hizdahr with a smirk. “He would have bet against me. A novice mistake.”

 

Hizdahr clenched his jaw, before motioning to the pit. “I have spent much of my life in Meereen, and in my experience, larger men do triumph over smaller man, far more often than not.”

 

Daenerys hummed some. “Has your experience ever involved any actual fighting?” she pressed, “You, yourself- have you ever tried to kill a man that was trying to kill you?”

 

Her betrothed was silent, pressing his lips together unhappily.

 

Daario grinned wide drawing his blade, looking over the woman that adorned the hilt with a loving touch. “Whenever I got into the pit against a beast like that one, the crowd saw me, all skin and bone back then, then they saw a pile of angry muscles ready to murder me. They couldn’t get their money out fast enough. But the pile of angry muscles never had any muscles here-” he spun it, tapping it gently against his own throat. Daenerys watched him, smiling just a bit. “Or here-” Daario continued, putting the blade to Hizdahr’s throat.

 

The man swallowed hard, his gaze on Daenerys, waiting for her to warn Daario off. She didn’t.

 

Taking the blade away, Daario shrugged a bit. “And the big men were always too slow to stop my dagger from going where their muscles weren’t. Yes, whenever I saw a beast like that one, standing across from me making his beast faces, I knew I could rest easy.”

 

There was a loud cheer from the crowd and everyone turned to look, seeing the larger man and his broadsword screaming out his victory, the smaller man’s head rolling across the dirt.

 

Daario gave a frustrated noise, turning away with a sour look.

 

Shaking his head a bit Tyrion rubbed his hands together, not giving his attention to the arena.

 

Jaime sighed some, frowning. It felt a bit too much like watching the trial back at home. He couldn’t imagine that Tyrion was comfortable.

 

Hizdahr looked to the smaller man, taking in his sour expression. “You don’t approve?”

 

Tyrion looked up at him, before giving a slight shake of his head, his nose wrinkling for just a moment. “There’s always been more than enough death in the world for my tastes.” he explained. “I can do without it in my leisure time.”

 

Daenerys hummed her agreement to that.

 

Hizdahr looked to her, before speaking to Tyrion again. “Fair enough, yet- it’s an unpleasant question, but what great thing has ever been accomplished without killing or cruelty?   
  
Tyrion scoffed at that, looking to the puddle of blood slowly sinking into the dirt. “It’s easy to confuse what  _ is _ with what  _ ought _ to be. Especially when what  _ is _ has worked in your favor.”   
  
“I’m not talking about myself. I’m talking about the necessary conditions of greatness.” Hizdahr defended.   
  
Daenerys looked to the arena, watching as people carried off the headless body, blood dripping from its shoulders, leaving a trail behind it. “That’s greatness?” she asked, disbelievingly.

 

” _ That _ is a vital part of the great city of Meereen. Which has existed long before you arrived and will remain standing long after we have returned to the dirt.” Hizdahr said, looking to her, speaking slowly, as if schooling her.

 

Daenerys’s lip curled some.   
  
Tyrion hummed. “Tell me, Hizdahr- do you and my father get along?” he asked.

 

Hizdahr looked to him with a frown.   
  
The announcer cut in, saving them from the conversation as he cried out. “We ask again- who will triumph?”   
  
Daenerys kept her eyes on the announcer, before speaking slowly. “One day, your great city will return to the dirt as well.”   
  
Hizdahr’s jaw clenched, looking to her. “At your command?”   
  
“If need be.”

 

The announcer motioned to a man. “A Meereenese champion?” he asked, the arena erupting in a deafening cheer.

 

Jaime couldn’t help the smirk that took his face, looking over to Hizdahr. The man noticed his gaze, a touch of color to his cheeks as he shifted unhappily and tilted his chin up. “How many people will die to make this happen?”   
  
Daenerys hummed some. “If it comes to that, they would have died for a good reason.”   
  
Looking to the fighters in the pit, Hizdahr motioned. “Those men think they’re dying for a good reason.” he reasoned.   
  
Daenerys shook her head some. “Someone else’s reason.”   
  
“So your reasons are true, and theirs are false. They don’t know their own minds, but you do.” he shot back.   
  
Tyrion cut in before Daenerys spoke, not liking the way that Hizdahr condescended to her. “Well said, you’re an eloquent man.” he started, and Jaime’s smile grew. He knew that tone. “Doesn’t mean you’re wrong. In my experience, eloquent men are right, every bit as often as imbeciles.”

 

“Or a Westerosi Knight?!” Everyone paused, looking to the arena, Daenerys’s breath hitching as she saw Jorah, heard the boos of the crowd.

 

Jaime tensed, staring the man down.

 

Jorah didn’t flinch away at all, his eyes on Daenerys, and only her as he spoke. “I fight and die for your glory, O Glorious Queen.” he said, loud and even.

 

Daenerys felt like she might be sick, her throat tight, clenching her hands in her lap.

 

Jorah’s bottom lip was quivering as he held eye contact with Daenerys, and she shook her head ever so slightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

 

Hizdahr twisted towards her. “Your Grace-”   
  
Daario cut in. “Shut your mouth.” he said firmly, before looking to Daenerys. This wasn’t something anyone should cut into it. Whatever happened here had to be Daenerys.

 

Daenerys could feel herself shaking as she lifted her hands, eyes on Jorah as she clapped.

 

Her face settled into anger as the fighters started to move. How dare he come back? This was the second time now, the second time he’d purposely found a way back into her presence, with no care as to how it made her feel.

  
And how  _ did  _ it make her feel? She could put her finger on what was happening in her heart. It was all too much, all at once.

 

There were six men in the pit, but Daenerys, Tyrion and Jaime were only staring at Jorah, watching as he went up against a man with a long axe.

 

He struck twice, each blow glancing off the man’s hilt, before he slammed the end of it into Jorah’s inner thigh, breaking his guard long enough to strike again, blood spattering the ground as Jorah’s head whipped to the side.

 

Daenerys was tense and trembling, her heart beating in her throat.

 

Jorah hit the ground hard, crawling away, trying to put enough distance between them that he could recover himself.

 

She was going to watch him die, and she couldn’t stop it.

 

The man swung his axe down at Jorah’s prone form, and he spun quickly, using his sword to knock the blow away, kicking the man’s knee hard enough to hear a crack. The man went down to one knee, holding onto his axe to keep from hitting the ground.

 

Moving forward, Jorah stabbed at him, his blade hitting dirt as the man moved forward.

 

A clash of metal, and Jorah’s sword was gone, dropping into the dirt past him, Daenerys’s hand clenching hard.

 

As Jorah spun, he reached to his boot, pulling a dagger out. Two strong blows disarmed the other man, and within seconds they were stuck in a grapple, straining against one another, Jorah’s dagger wavering in the air over his opponent’s chest.

 

Kicking the same injured knee, the man went down, and Jorah’s blade cut his hand, forcing him to let go.

 

He cried out as Jorah sank the blade deep into his chest, looking up at Daenerys as the man died.

 

They held eye contact, the moment feeling like it took forever, but it broke before the cheering had even stopped.

 

Throwing his dagger to the dirt, Jorah set his eyes on his next target, picking up his blade. The man had a rapier, and he kept eye contact as he worked through several flourishes, showing off for the crowd.

 

Jorah didn’t bother with any of that, keeping his stance ready, his grip tightening before relaxing around his hilt.

 

Jorah lunged, and the man parried, pushing his blade down the length of Jorah’s, aiming for his fingers. Twisting his grip to deflect it with the cross guard, Jorah swiped for his face, the man bending back to avoid it.

 

The blow left him open, however, the rapier cutting across his cheek, Jorah’s hand coming up when he felt the heat of the cut, blood dripping down his cheek.

 

Daenerys flinched openly, breathing hard as she watched him.

 

Jorah grunted some, going in with another blow, the rapier deflecting it and dropping, turning on his knee to cut across Jorah’s pants. He rolled away, leaving Jorah having to close the distance, an action that left him vulnerable.

 

Going to strike at him, the rapier slammed into his breastplate, knocking the wind from the man. Lifting his hand to see if it punctured, Jorah doubled over a bit, wheezing slightly and straightening as quickly as he could.

 

This wasn’t going well for him, and Tyrion exhaled sharply, leaning forward a bit.

 

Glancing to him, Jaime clenched his jaw, before turning his attention back to the arena. There was too much death of those they cared about recently. If Jorah died as well, he didn’t know how Daenerys would take it. She’d given herself away the day that Tyrion came to her.

 

_ Why should the people trust a Queen who can’t keep her promises? _

 

She had no wish to harm Jorah, no wish to seem him die for her.

 

Jaime honestly believed that she loved Jorah, as much as he loved her. He couldn’t fault her for that.

 

Tyrion’s hands were tight on the arms of his seat, looking to Daenerys again quickly, his displeasure obvious in the way that his lips were pressed tight, his brow furrowed.

 

A man with a spear downed another man behind Jorah, the crowd erupting as Jorah took another blow to the face, shaking his head to get rid of the biting feeling of it. The man with the rapier was playing with him.

 

Jorah ducked under the next blow, metal ringing as he blocked and parried the next two. He was starting to get tired, and he couldn’t afford that.

 

A blow caught his arm and he went with the momentum to minimize the damage as best he could, his shirt sleeve stained with blood as his knee hit the dirt. More pain across the face, and he twisted, landing in the dust, gasping for air.

 

Turning to his back, he looked up, seeing the rapier pointed to his throat, before swallowing hard, and looking over to Daenerys.

 

He was going to die in front of her, and he couldn’t forgive himself for that.

 

Daenerys was trembling openly now, one hand gripping the arm of her chair.

 

“You can end this-” Tyrion said quickly, leaning forward to look at her.

 

“She cannot.” Hizdahr said sharply.

 

“You can!” Tyrion protested.

 

Daenerys gave an absent shake of her head, her heart hammering.

 

She was so close to speak up, to calling end- the man with the rapier cried out, a spear piercing through his chest, his blood spattering Jorah’s face like warm rain.

 

Breathing hard, he looked up at the last opponent, a man with a spear, towering over him.

 

The man took a few steps back, twirling the spear into a resting position, drawing cheers from the crowd as Jorah got to his feet.

 

Daenerys took her first breath in what felt like forever, dizzy with relief, barely able to keep herself sitting upright.

 

The man swung at him, Jorah knocking his spear away, and sidestepping his next lunge. Another swing, and this time Jorah stepped forward, his arm swinging over the spear’s length, locking them both in a grapple as his sword was caught on the man’s arm.

 

Knocking him down with the spear, Jorah gasped as his back hit the dirt, dropping his hold of his blade quickly to catch the spear, feeling it bite into his palms as the tip tapped against his breastplate.

 

He kicked out at the man’s groin, forcing him back and picking up his blade quickly, swinging to ward him off while he stood back up.

 

They circled one another, getting a feel for where the other was. Finally, both of them lunged. At the last moment, Jorah dropped into a roll, his blade coming up, the spear passing over his shoulder without hitting him.

 

There was a sickening, satisfying feel to it, watching Jorah’s sword come out of the man’s back, Daenerys tilting her chin up, giving a sigh of relief. He was safe.

 

The crowd was booing as Jorah stood, the victor. His eyes were on Daenerys, and she clenched her jaw some, swallowing hard.

 

She couldn’t exile him a third time. That wasn’t an option she’d have and they both knew it. Either she took him back, or she killed him.

 

Jorah’s smile faltered, and Daenerys shifted some, her head tilting ever so slightly. There was something there, in his gaze-

 

He picked up the spear from the man dying beside him, eyes still on Daenerys and for a split second, she could feel the wound of betrayal all over again.

 

Daario was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around her, forcing her to the side, out of the way as the spear sailed through the air.   
  
Jaime knew he should have protected Hizdahr, but when Jorah had picked up the shield, he’d instantly shielded Tyrion, holding the man to his chest as they heard the body hit the floor behind them.

 

Turning, Daenerys felt her stomach sink, the golden mask of the killed attacker glinting in the sunlight.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, swinging in with chapter 29 super heckin' late, since I 100% had to do a full system reset of my laptop and lost all my settings yesterday. (:

‘ _ Traitor’ _

 

The moment Jon saw the sign, he knew, staring at it. His heart was hammering, hand touching his hip, remembering Longclaw leaning against his desk, belt wrapped around the scabbard.

 

Turning slowly, he looked to the men cornering him, scanning the faces of people he knew, had fought beside countless times.

 

Alliser moved forward, and Jon’s breath left him when the blade hit his gut, his breath leaving him all at once. The man’s hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him standing, his knees dipping, threatening to buckle.

 

His gut felt like it was on fire.

 

“For the Watch.”

 

The words cut him deeper than the blade had, looking up and making eye contact with the man, glaring him down as he stepped back, and another stepped into his place.

 

Again, he was stabbed, the taste of copper flooding his mouth, his shallow breath hitching.

 

“For the Watch.”

 

Another took his place, and another, and another, and Jon stumbled, trying his hardest to stay alive, fighting to stare them down. He couldn’t die now. Not like this.

 

Olly stepped forward, and Jon whined some, shaking his head a bit.

 

“Olly-”

 

The boy moved forward, and the blade bit deep into his chest. Jon knew he wouldn’t survive this, but gods did it hurt, watching the boy as he shoved just a touch deeper before drawing the blade out with a jerk.

 

“For the Watch.”

 

His knees hit the snow, the cold already biting into the fabric. He could barely feel it, his hand moving to his chest, coming away hot and wet. Covered in blood.

 

It looked black in the moonlight, the fire of the torches dancing off it, Jon coughing once, twice, before he fell back, staring up at the sky.

 

And then there was darkness.

 

Nothing else.

 

Just the dark.

 

\----

 

Tyrion frowned as he watched Jaime trying the straps on his horse, Daario and Jorah working on their own saddles. “You’re the Prince, your place is  _ here,  _ Jaime.” he said, watching him.

 

Jaime looked at him. “I’m the Prince, not the Queen, and Daenerys needs me.” he said firmly. “I told her that I would  _ always _ be at her side. I’m not going to cower in a pyramid while she’s out in the wilderness somewhere.” he argued right back.

 

Tywin sighed, before looking to Tyrion. “You won’t change his mind.” he said with a slight frown.

 

Tyrion turned to him. “Admit it, you think this is just as stupid as I do.” he demanded.

 

Tywin nodded. “And yet, he’s still leaving.”

 

Tyrion scoffed unhappily, before looking back to Jaime. “If you die out there, I will  _ never  _ forgive you.”

 

Jaime smiled at him, nodding a bit. “I know.” he said. Swinging up into the saddle, he pat Assa’s neck gently, before clicking his tongue, leaving Daario and Jorah to catch up with him.

 

\---

 

“Goat?” Daario asked, sliding off his horse and looked at the scorched remains on the ground.

 

Jaime shook his head. “Ram.” he  echoed Jorah, looking to the other knight, before slipping off his horse as well, moving to stand beside Daario.

 

“You think our friend got him?”

 

Jorah nodded. “Don’t know anything else that could melt a ram’s horn.” he said, looking to him with a frown, before turning to study the horizon, looking for any clues as to the direction they’d gone off in from here.

 

Daario hummed. “We’re on the right track then.”

 

Jaime nodded. “That we are.” 

 

“Maybe she’s just tired of being Queen.” Daario said, shrugging some. “I don’t think she likes it very much.”

 

Jaime looked over at her. “You know her better than that.” he said flatly.

 

Jorah nodded his agreement. “She’s too smart to like it.” he said simply.

 

Daario stepped into his saddle, gathering up his reins into one hand. “Perhaps she’s flown far away, then? Somewhere away from men like us.”

 

“There’s an us?” Jaime asked casually.

 

Jorah snorted. “I’ve been all over the world. There’s no escaping men like us.” he said, before looking to Jaime. “I have to ask, why did you come with us?” he said, clicking to his horse.

 

Jaime looked over at him. “I promised to be at her side.” he said. “Always.” He shook his head a bit. “Now isn’t any different. Even if she’s decided to say ‘fuck Meereen’, she’s my sister and my queen. I’ll be with her, wherever she goes.”

 

Jorah watched him, his brow furrowing some. “You’re a Lannister. Last I knew, your father was responsible for the death of the Targaryens.  _ You  _ killed the Mad King. And now you’re pledge wholly to her, because… your hair is silver now?”

 

Jaime glared over at him. “I’m pledged to her, because I know her. I’ve listened to her dreams, she’s listened to more than her share of my problems. She’s kind, and smart. If anyone should be on that ugly throne, it’s her.” 

 

Seeing a pattern in the grass, the men fell quiet, moving forward and looking down at the tracks. Jorah slipped off, moving to the center of the ring.

 

“An army?” Daario asked with a frown.

 

“Not an army.” Jorah shook his head uneasily. “A hoard.”

 

Jaime dismounted as well, moving forward, looking around. “Dothraki.” he said. Jorah nodded agreement, before pausing and looking down, catching a glint of something white. Picking up the pearl ring that Daenerys wore, he swallowed hard.

 

“They have her.” he said, turning to show the other two.

 

Jaime swallowed hard at that. “Where would they take her?”

 

Jorah sighed. “Vaes Dothraki.” he said. “When Drogo died, that’s where she should have gone. She didn’t.”

 

“And I doubt anyone will be pleased at that.” Jaime said with a frown. “The Dothraki, or Daenerys. She’s not the type to cloister up and read fortunes.”

 

Jorah looked to him. “You know of the Dosh Khaleen?” he asked curiously.

 

“Of them.” Jaime said with a nod. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time with Kovarro these past few weeks. He’s been teaching me quite a bit.” 

 

That made both Daario and Jorah give him considering looks, and Jaime looked between them both. “What have you thought I was doing all day? Polishing my hand?” he asked, lifting the golden prosthetic.

 

Daario snorted. “Brooding.” he said with a shrug.

 

“I don’t brood.” Jaime shot back, shaking his head some, before moving back to his horse.

 

Jorah snorted. “Of course not, your Highness.” he said.

 

Jaime groaned at that. “I hate that fucking title.” he muttered.


	30. Chapter 30

Hot.

 

He was hot. Like fire running through his veins.

 

Gasping for air, Jon snapped his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, shivering hard and he shot upright, his lungs burning at the feeling of breathing.

 

Putting his hand to his chest, he felt the deep cuts over his heart, the way it curved over his breast. He looked up and over, seeing Davos standing there, staring at him. He could feel himself shaking, his breath shallow and fast.

 

Davos moved forward quickly, pulling his cloak off his shoulders, wrapping Jon’s naked body in it. “Easy-” he coached gently. “Easy, easy-”

 

Jon’s hand came up, gripping his arm as he swung his legs off the table. “My clothes-”

 

“We’ll get you some in short time. What do you remember?” he asked.

 

Jon closed his eyes. “They stabbed me. Olly- he put a knife in my heart. I shouldn’t be here-” he looked up, seeing the Red Woman enter the room, a look of amazement in her eyes.

 

“The lady brought you back.” Davos said, steadying him.

 

Jon swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, feeling his lungs protesting. Staring at the floor, he swayed in Davos’s hold, trying to make sense of everything.

 

Melisandre moved forward, kneeling before him, catching his gaze. “Afterwards, after they stabbed you, after you died-” she pressed, taking his hand in her own. “Where did you go? What did you see?”

 

Jon shook his head.

 

“Nothing. There was nothing at all.” he choked out, before looking to Davos. 

 

“The Lord let you come back for a reason-” Melisandre said quickly, commanding Jon’s attention again. “Stannis was not the Prince who was promised, but someone has to be.”

 

Davos frowned. “Can you give us a moment?” he asked her, watching as she blinked rapidly, before grudgingly standing and leaving the room.

 

“My vest, I have a leather vest, is it-” Jon asked as soon as the door closed.

 

Davos shook his head. “Ribbons. Took every blow you did.” he said, frowning as he watched him. “I can have another made up for you.” he offered quickly. “Bundle you up in the meantime, so no one can tell either way.”

 

Jon closed his eyes. “Who saw?” he choked out.

 

Davos frowned. “Edd. Tormund. The Lady, and myself.” he said simply. “No one else.”

 

Jon gave a sigh of relief. His secret was safe for now, that was a small comfort in all of this.

 

Grabbing a stool, he moved over, sitting in front of Jon. “You were dead.” he said flatly, and Jon huffed some. “And now you’re not. That’s completely mad, seems to me. I can only imagine how it seems to you.”

 

Jon took ragged breaths, shaking his head some. “I did what I thought was right. And I got murdered for it.” He looked to Davos. “And now I’m back? Why?”

 

Davos shook his head. “I don’t know _. _ Maybe we’ll never know _. _ What does it matter?” he asked. “You go on _. _ You fight for as long as you can _. _ You clean up as much of the shit as you can _. _ ”

 

“I… I don’t know how to do that.” Jon responded, clenching his jaw some. “I thought I did, and I failed.”

 

The man nodded in understanding. “Good. Now go fail again.”

 

Those words hit Jon in an odd way, and he looked up at him, blinking some before forcing himself to stand, swaying on his feet a bit.

 

Something felt *different* inside him now, and he tried to pinpoint it as he pulled his shirt on, hissing at the stiffness in his muscles.

 

Go fail again.

 

The words repeated and he took a deep breath, coughing just a bit.

 

That he could do.

 

Davos had to help him dress, and it took quite some time before Jon was truly convinced that his breasts were completely hidden, but finally, he agreed to leave the room he was in.

 

Leaning against Davos heavily, Jon felt his feet dragging some, leaving a weak trail in the snow as he moved forward, one hand clasping the snow covered banister.

 

Everyone was staring at him- and why wouldn’t they be? He’d just come back from the dead.

 

The wildlings parted as Jon made his way through the snow, seeing Tormund and giving him a fond look, already reaching out to clasp his hand. “They think you’re some sort of god.” the man told him.

 

Jon shook his head. “I’m not.”

 

The ginger chuckled. “I know.” he said, before leaning in. “I saw your pecker. What kind of god would have a pecker that small?”

 

Laughing hurt like hell, but Jon couldn’t help it grinning just a bit and shaking his head. Leaning in the rest of the way, he hugged him close for a moment, before drawing back, looking past Tormund to Edd.

 

THey embraced quickly, the squeeze making Jon wince, pulling back to avoid more pain. The man looked him over, locking gazes for a long time. “Still brown.” he said. “Is that still you in there?”

 

Jon smiled a bit, nodding. “I think so. Hold off on burning my body, for now.”

 

More laughter, and Jon grinned, before looking past him, at the state of the fort around them. His eyes were drawn to the sign, still nailed to the post.

 

Traitor.

 

He clenched his jaw, his mind already made up, giving Edd’s forearm one last squeeze before starting back towards his rooms.

 

He needed to pack.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think! I'm super excited to share these next few chapters with you!

Fire.

 

The heat of it was so gentle against him, despite the heat of the desert itself, and Jaime felt his eyes closing as he turned his face to it, taking a breath through his mouth. It didn’t hide the smell of burning bodies, though that of burning wood was far more present, tasting the smoke across his tongue.   
  
Opening his eyes once more, his gaze locked with Daenerys, the woman standing there, looking over the thousands that knelt before her, unashamed in her nakedness.

 

She was beautiful.

 

The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

 

It was one of the oddest things to him, the way that he was quickly starting to associate fire with her. With beauty and strength. With safety.

 

How long did it take for something so horrible to be redefined in someone’s mind? It felt like it was happening all so fast with Daenerys. She was like fire made human, the warmth, the passion, the  _ burn _ .

 

Rising to his feet, Jaime met her gaze, feeling Jorah and Daario still frozen in awe at his side.

 

His hand fumbled over his buckle briefly, before managing to get it open, shrugging off the jacket, working the sleeve over his false hand.

 

His boots were heavy against the ground, feeling the sandy dirt shifting under him as he stepped forward, walking through the bodies. Daenerys tilted her chin up a bit, and Jaime stopped at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her to make the first move, to decide if she would meet him there.

 

Daenerys reached out after a moment, taking the jacket from Jaime’s hand, drawing it over her shoulders.

  
It smelled like him.

 

Jaime gave her the slightest of smiles, before offering his hand to her, feeling his heart stutter a beat as Daenerys took it, letting him guide her down the steps. She lead the way through the crowd, feeling eyes on the both of them, knowing that they must make such a sight.

 

A Queen and her brother, silver haired and proud as they parted a crowd without a word.

 

Two dragons, leaving a blaze in their wake.

 

There was a beat of time, before Jorah rose next, turning to follow after her, Daario just a second later.

 

Once they were away from the eyes of the Khalasar, Jaime turned to Daenerys, ignoring the other two men as he reached up, tucking a lock of silver hair behind her ear, his palm coming to cup her cheek gently. “Are you alright?” he asked.

 

Daenerys chuckled, the sound breathy as she leaned into his touch, looking up at him through her lashes. “I’m fine, Jaime. They didn’t hurt me.” It was a half truth, but she didn’t need to be coddled over a welt from days ago, or blisters on her feet. She’d suffered worse and the Dosh Khaleen had already seen to her minor injuries.

 

Jaime’s jaw flexed some, and his eyes flicked between hers, looking for any sign of a lie, before he leaned in gently, his lips pressing to her forehead gently, nose brushing her hair.

 

Daenerys’s eyes went wide for a split second, before she reached up, gripping his wrist gently, leaning in against him, letting her eyes close. Soaking in the affection, the soft and open way it was offered, no expectations or demands-

 

She gave a soft sigh, smiling. Jaime was all around her, the scent from his jacket enveloping her, the warmth from his body- the warmth from his  _ spirit  _ touching her heart.

 

It hit her hard then, how she’d missed him in just the few days apart from him, and she pulled back a bit, meeting his gaze as he looked down at her, his thumb tracing over her cheek bone. She reached up with her other hand, her fingertips running along his jaw gently.

 

Jaime didn’t let himself think, he tried not to listen to the way that the roar of the fire behind them matched the rushing in his ears. Instead, he acted, impulse and passion burning through his veins as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against Daenerys’s in a soft, unspoken question.

 

And when she reached up, when she thread her fingers into his hair honestly, and pulled him down completely, their lips firm and hot against one another-

 

Jaime was sure he could hear the Gods singing in the Heavens.

 

It was like kissing fire itself, hot and needy, licking at his lips, demanding his praise, his attention, his devotion, and oh did Jaime give it willingly.

 

He would give her everything of himself without hesitation.

 

Daenerys broke from the kiss with a soft gasp, her hand in his hair, gripping gently, and oh Jaime couldn’t  _ think _ past the pressure along his scalp, the slightest twinge of pain as she tightened her hand, listening to the soft gasp that left his lips.   
  
Her violet eyes studied him for what felt like a life time, before she turned her gaze to the two men watching them in various shades of awe.

 

“Leave us.” she ordered, and Jorah bowed immediately, already turning away, his hands clenched white knuckled at his sides as he pushed the door of the building open.

 

Daario took a moment longer, his gaze on Daenerys and Daenerys alone for a long moment, his jaw flexing, before he gave a sharp nod, and turned on his heel, the door snapping shut behind him with an air of finality.

 

Daenerys watched him go, before looking back to Jaime, her hand releasing those perfect, soft silver locks, drawing down the side of his neck, to press flat to his chest. She could feel his heart racing under her palm, and she let the moment linger, before she spoke.

 

“I won’t ask anything of you, that you would not willingly give, Jaime.” she said softly. “You are my brother, and my friend.”

 

Jaime gave a soft smile to her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, speaking without hesitation. “There is nothing I wouldn’t give you, Daenerys.” he said softly. “I’m yours.”


	32. Chapter 32

Jaime’s lips could be a religion in and of themselves, Daenerys was quickly learning. They were like silk, soft and fluid against her as she gasped, arching against the pillows and furs beneath her. She could feel his hand, gripping her waist as her thighs tightened around his shoulders, and when his nails scraped against the skin of her hip, she let out a moan that drew a shiver from him.

 

He sucked against her, tongue pressed tight against her clit, perfect lilac-grey eyes watching her beneath his pale lashes as she whimpered under the sensations, her teeth dragging across her bottom lip. Her hand fisted in his hair, nails dragging across his scalp lightly, pulling him in against her more firmly.

 

She could feel the way he moaned, how it vibrated against her, and she gasped softly in reply.

 

Jaime moved closer, his hand firming on her hip, shrugging his shoulders to guide her thighs up farther. Plunging his tongue into her, he let his eyes close, focusing on her, and her alone, thrusting the slick muscle into her. Daenerys cried out, her other hand moving over her own stomach, breathing heavily as she pressed her hips up into it.

 

The hand in his hair clenched, making a sweet sting bloom across his scalp, and Jaime moved, his arm laying over her hips, strong muscles rippling as he forced her hips against the bed and held her there. The hand on her hip disappeared, and she whined, wanting that grounding touch back as Jaime’s lips moved back to her clit, sealing around the sensitive bud to suck at it in short, easy pulses.

 

She didn’t have time to mourn the touch too much, however, before she felt the nudge of his fingers against her, her thighs pulling together on either side of his head as he pressed one long digit into her.

 

Thrusting his finger as deep as he could, Jaime focused on Daenerys, meeting her gaze as he flicked his tongue over her clit.

 

Separating from her to gasp for breath, he caught the sight of her smile, echoing the expression easily as he drew his finger back to the very tip. Returning with a second finger, he watched as she rolled her hips up, straining against the arm that was still pinning her down. “Gods- you’re beautiful, Daenerys.” he said, his words barely more than an exhale.

 

Daenerys bit her bottom lip lightly, tilting her chin up, stretching to try and show her body off for him, the compliment making her cheeks pinken a bit. He sounded so  _ genuine _ that it made her already racing heart skip a beat. “Jaime-”

 

Her voice rose with the next thrust of his fingers, feeling them deep inside her, his mouth sealed around her again, and she gripped his short hair as best she could, thighs shivering around him. Heat was building in her stomach, and she couldn’t help the small whimpers that left her as she panted into the night air. “Jaime- gods, just like that.” she moaned, and he responded by moving his fingers faster, pressing closer, as if he could sense how close she was getting.

 

A crook of his fingers deep inside her, and Daenerys felt her breath hitch, her hips jerking up into the sensation.

 

Jaime’s mouth fell away from her, his thumb pressing to her clit firmly as he looked up at her, rubbing with each thrust. “Are you going to come for me,  _ Sister _ ?” he asked, his voice a low purr, and Daenerys couldn’t hold herself back, the reminder of who they were to one another making something about this so much  _ more _ . Hotter, more needed. Close, not just in emotion and body, but  _ blood _ .

 

Her back arched off the bed as she clenched down around him, his next thrust into her making her eyes widen, her mouth open in a silent scream, before she inhaled sharply, her moan leaving her as her knees pulled tight together, thighs pressed flush to Jaime’s head, the arm on her hips leaving, letting her writhe openly, his hand following with her movements.

 

“Brother!”

 

He watched her as she came, his fingers slowing as he worked her through the orgasm. When her thighs finally stopped quivering around him, he gently untangled himself from her, his fingers slick as he pulled them free of her.

 

Daenerys fully expected him to wipe his hand off on the furs, instead, being treated to the sight of him slipping them into his mouth, sucking her flavour from the long, skillful digits with a pleased moan.

 

Shivering, Daenerys tugged impatiently at him. “Please, I need you inside me.” she demanded, breathless and feeling overwhelmed with her need for him, to have him close.

 

“You’ll have me.” Jaime promised, kissing the inside of her thigh, before levering himself up onto his elbow, rolling up onto his knees. He took his time working his way up her body, kissing along her stomach gently. He paused at her chest, tracing marks he had left on her breasts earlier, before taking a nipple between his teeth, giving a light tug. Daenerys heard the whimper leave her, and her hands dropped to his biceps, pulling at him. “Jaime-” she breathed out into the air between them.

 

Jaime finally made his way up to her lips once more, settling between her legs, feeling as she rocked her hips up against him needily. She had no interest in patience, and she made it clear as she claimed his lips in a firm kiss, tongue dipping into his mouth with a demand. Daenerys could taste herself, her tongue dipping into his mouth. Sweet, salty,  _ perfect _ .

 

Coaxing his mouth open more, she deepened the kiss, tongue licking against Jaime’s. Her hands squeezed at his arms gently, feeling the muscles move under her grasp as he reached between them, taking his cock in hand. The press of it against her clit made her gasp as Jaime rocked forward gently, teasing her with the head, rubbing it along the length of her lips to slicken the skin.   
  
“Daenerys-” Jaime murmured into the kiss, finally, *blissfully* lining with her, pressing in slowly.

 

The pressure of it was perfect, that much larger than his fingers, the wetness of her cunt allowing him to enter her with little resistance. Two pieces slotting together so perfectly.

  
Jaime held there, hilted inside her, kissing at Daenerys’s lips, making sure that she was used to the width of him, how deep he hit, before starting to roll his hips, testing the waters.

Daenerys almost huffed, biting at his bottom lip impatiently, rocking her hips down hard. The motion made Jaime groan openly, and he shuddered, grinning wide. 

 

“Patience, Daenerys-” Jaime teased her, biting her lip in return as he drew out to the tip, teasing with short, shallow thrusts.

 

Arching her back some, Daenerys tried to roll her hips down, chasing after him, trying to coax him back inside her. “I have no interest in patience right now, Jaime.” she said, voice breathless yet firm. “I need to feel you. And I won’t beg.”

 

Jaime’s grin was gorgeous, and he lifted a brow some, before giving a cocky nod. “As you wish, my Queen.” he joked.

 

Any retort Daenerys may have had died, drowned under the moan that tore from her as Jaime snapped his hips in, hilting inside of her with one hard motion. Her hands clenched, and she pressed her head back into the pillows as he started moving at an even pace, each thrust deep and hard, making her breath stutter in time with them.

 

“Gods!” she gasped out, clinging to his shoulders, and Jaime chuckled.

 

She felt so perfect around him, writhing under him as he started to speed his thrusts. Each moan, each gasp, drove the heat in Jaime’s gut hotter. Like stoking a flame as he focused on her, Daenerys’s expression, her pleasure.

 

This was far overdue.

 

How long had this tension been building between them?

 

Daenerys wrapped her legs around his hips as he thrust into her again, locking her ankles to keep him close. Her hands slipped on his back, nails dragging down his skin, drawing red trails in their wake.

 

It was intimate, no demands or expectations between them, only the need for one another. 

 

A feeling she thought she’d lost when she’d lost Drogo.

 

That passing thought made her cling to him tighter, and Jaime gave a soft moan against her neck. His lips sealed over her pulse, not giving thought to hiding this as he marked her. The sucking against her skin was sharp, but pleasant, just hard enough to draw red to her pale flesh before he broke away, to explore higher along her neck.

 

There would be no hiding what happened between them, and Daenerys didn’t care. She had no shame in Jaime, no shame in her own sexuality, or this new step in their relationship.

 

His hand shifted to thread into her hair, feeling the way it was falling from its braids, barely holding the style she’d had before. Cradling the back of her head, Jaime shifted, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Daenerys-”

 

The whisper was so full of longing and need, open love- it made goosebumps race down her skin, and she arched against him, turning her face to catch his lips.

 

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer, as if there was space between them for him to move into. Daenerys could feel herself tightening around him, her thighs quivering as she rocked up to meet each of his thrusts. It was so hot, leaving her panting for every breath, kissing at Jaime’s skin without aim or purpose.   
  


It was as if he could sense how close she was, how desperate her need was, Jaime quickened his pace. His hand fell to her thigh, gripping tightly as he thrust harder, faster, the furs slipping under the with the force of it.

 

Daenerys’s cry echoed the fierce way her hands moved to his hips, gripping at him hard enough that he could feel the crescent marks she was indenting into his skin as she clenched down on him, her body shuddering under him. He didn’t stop, fucking her through her orgasm, chasing after the sensations.

 

It was like a pulse, the way she tightened around his cock, wet heat gripping him tight. He let out a strangled cry, his hips stuttering, jerking into her as he lost his rhythm, hilting inside her once more. “ _ Sister _ -” The name was whispered like a prayer, into the pants between them as Jaime came, his cock throbbing with each pulse of his orgasm.

 

The word made her hum softly, and her hands relaxed, one trailing along his spine gently, until it came to rest in his hair, petting absently.

 

“I do hope that’s not exhaustion I hear in your voice.” she said, just as breathless as he was. “The night is far from over, dear Brother.”


	33. Chapter 33

“Your Grace-”

 

The title finally drew Cersei’s eyes away from the window, as she held out her hand for the scroll, watching the man quickly retreat. Her jaw was tight, grief sitting across her shoulders like a cloak as her gaze flicked to the Mountain, the hulking giant quiet and ever watchful.

 

Cracking the wax seal, she read in silence, before turning and looking to Qyburn. “You’re sure this is the truth?” she asked.

 

The disgraced Maester nodded from his seat, studying the woman as she digested the information.

 

“My brother, Jaime- the one handed traitor, is a Prince. A _Targaryen_ Prince. Silver haired, and crowned.” she summarized, her voice bitter and disbelieving as she threw the scroll into the fire before her, taking a step back, grabbing her wine harshly, the deep red liquid nearly sloshing over the rim of the glass. “He cannot be burnt, and dragons come to his beck and call.”

 

Her lip curled, and she looked to her own palm, before looking to Qyburn. “If he is a Targaryen, than I am as well.” she mused. “And yet I look _utterly_ Lannister. Blonde, green eyes. We came from the same womb. The same seed.”

 

He nodded, folding his hands in his lap. “You are as Targaryen as Jaime is, your Grace. A dragon, in lion’s clothes.”

 

Cersei hummed, and she paused, looking to the candle on the table. “The letter said that Jaime cannot be burnt. That he held hot coals in his hand, without a mark, save the soot. This was witnessed by servants. Who- I assume, gossiped with merchants, who then gossiped with sailors, who brought the tales back to us.”

 

Another nod. “It is as you say, your Grace.”

 

Cersei reached out, her hand stopping just shy of the flame, curling her fingers in toward her palm, protecting them from the heat.

 

There was silence in the room, before she finally reached out, holding her hand over the open flame, watching the candle in silence as pain bloomed across her palm. Pulling back, she turned her hand over, looking at the pink and angry skin.

 

Qyburn was at her side in a breath of a moment, taking her hand in his, tutting his tongue some. “I’ll fetch my things, your Grace.”

 

Pulling her hand away, Cersei scoffed some. “Leave it.” she said flatly. “It’s nothing.”

 

Clenching her hand into a fist, Cersei could feel the pain of her nails digging against the fresh burn, feel the heat from it on her skin as she glared at the candle, as if her will would make the flame turn to ice.

 

“I want my heraldry changed.” she demanded. “The Targaryen banner, find some way to include the Lannister colors. See it done.”

 

Qyburn bowed his head gently. “As you wish, your Grace. I’ll let them know.”

 

As he turned, Cersei paused, turning her face to him. “I have a letter to write. Will your little spies be able to bring it to Jaime, _only_ Jaime?”

 

“My birds can put the letter directly into his golden palm.”

 

Cersei gave a curt nod, before looking away again, hearing him walking across the room, and the soft rattle of the handle as he saw himself out.

 

Moving back around her table, serving as a desk in her royal prison, Cersei sat, perhaps a bit more heavily than she had meant to, her skirt gathering around her legs as she crossed her ankles, tucking them under her seat. Reaching forward, she plucked another of Qyburn’s report off the desk, lifting the paper and studying it as her mind raced.

 

She was clawing onto life at this point, to her title and her power. The High Sparrow had his claws deep into Tommen, and she was quickly running out of options as the date of trial drew ever closer. Cersei would need to speak to Tommen, to tell him of his Targaryen blood through her.

 

Right now, she couldn’t _dare_ to tell him of Jaime, he’d most likely keep that damned stag on all of his banners.

 

If he allowed her to speak to him at all, that was.

 

All she honestly needed, was to bring Jaime _home_. It shouldn’t be such an issue, not really but- if her claim to the throne was her Targaryen blood, she would need to pass that blood on. She was still fertile, she was sure of it. She needed another child. An heir that she could claim between the both of them.

 

One with silver hair, and purple eyes.

 

She didn’t _want_ to take the crown from Tommen but- he was forcing her hand. If her only way to gain control once more was to shove him and that whore Queen out of her way was to use Jaime’s claim as a Targaryen son, it would have to be done.

 

He was a soft boy, he’d already proven why he couldn’t be king. Unable to make the decisions that needed to be made.

 

Tommen would forgive her, once he came to understand why it was necessary.

 

Picking up her pen, she drew a blank sheet of parchment to her, and began to write.


	34. Chapter 34

Daenerys pulled up on her reins, patting her mare as it whinnied under her, pulling to a stop. Lifting his hand, Jaime looked to her, hearing the entire hoard pulling to a stop behind them.

  


“What is it?” Daario asked as he pulled up beside the both of them, looking to his Queen. Daenerys tilted her ear to him, watching the horizon still.

  


“How many days ride to Meereen?”

  


“A week at best.” Daario answered, thumb stroking over the leather of his reins, interested as to where this was going.

  


She gave a slight nod. “How many ships will my Khalasar need to reach Westeros?”

  


“Dothraki and all their horses, the Unsullied and the Second Sons? At least a thousand.” Daario figured quickly, frowning the slightest bit.

  


Jaime looked to Daenerys as she pondered that, her eyes narrowing some. “And who has that many?”

  


“No one I know of.” Jaime said, shaking his head some. “Perhaps the Iron Isles has a few hundred, but the Greyjoys hold no love for anyone but themselves.”

  


Daario nodded. “Nobody, in short.”

  


“Nobody _yet_.” Daenerys said.

  


“So we ride for Meereen, and then set sail for Westeros. What then?” Daario asked, frowning.

  


“I take what is mine.” she said simply, frowning at Daario, tilting her chin up the slightest bit. Jaime couldn’t help but smirk at that answer.

  


Daario shook his head some. “You weren’t made to sit on a throne in some palace.”

  


“What was I made for?” Daenerys asked, arching a brow imperiously as she watched him.

  


“You’re a conqueror, Daenerys Stormborn.” Daario stated.

  


The wind picked up, a howl the whistled through the rocks around them. Jaime sat up straighter when he heard it, something inside him prickling, and he swallowed, his horse stepping forward, sensing his want to move.

  


“Wait here.” Daenerys said, before looking to Jaime, hesitating a brief moment, before smiling some and taking off without him.

  


Jaime watched as she disappeared behind the bend, pursing his lips some, hating the thought of her being off alone in the desert yet again. His horse fidgeted under him, tail flicking back and forth as the heat bore down on the Khalasar.

  


Daario sighed some, running a hand through his hair, looking over at Jaime. His jaw flexed, and he urged his horse forward. “I’m going after her.” he announced.

  


Jaime looked over at him sharply, about to tell him to leave it be, when a dragon roar split through the air, the sound sinking into his very bones, like a heart beat. He looked up to the sky, hearing people murmuring and shouting behind him as Drogon’s shadow moved over them all. His eyes were wide, watching as Daenerys circled them all again, before landing before the Khalasar, the ground shaking under the dragon’s size.

  


Letting out another roar, Drogon silenced the Khalasar completely.

  


The air itself felt as it if was silent as they waited, Daenerys leaning forward, back straight and chin high, looking fierce and beautiful.

  


“Every khal who ever lived chose three blood riders to fight beside him and guard his way.” The Dothraki words fell from her lips easily, the men all nodding their understanding. Shaking her head the slightest bit, she continued. “But I am not a khal. I will not choose three blood riders.”

  


There was a moment of confusion, people looking to one another.

  


“I choose you all.”

  


The words brought a new roar, the Khalasar all crying out at that, making Daenerys smile as she continued, her voice carrying over them. “I will ask more of you than any khal has ever asked of his Khalasar! Will you ride the wooden horses across the black salt sea?”

  


Jaim understood enough of that to know what she was asking of them all, and he cried out with the Khalasar as they cheered their agreement, several of the warriors drawing their blades, thrusting them into the air.

  


“Will you kill my enemies in their iron suits and tear down their stone houses?”

  


Another cheer, and the ground shook under them, horses and people alike stamping their feet to add to the cheer.

  


“Will you give me the Seven Kingdoms, the gift Khal Drogo promised me before the Mother of Mountains?”

  


Daario was staring up at Daenerys in awe, his heart hammering in his throat, his very thoughts drowned out under the cheer of the people behind them.

  


“Are you with me?” She paused to let them cheer again. “Now and always?”

  


As the final cheer ripped through the Khalasar, Drogo spread his wings, roaring loudly, his cry echoing off the stone around them, and Jaime grinned as he screamed with the rest.

  


It truly was something, looking up at her, riding atop her dragon, grinning as she joined the cry, thrusting her fist into the air with the rest of them. She was no distant Queen, towering above her people with cold indifference. She was here with her people, joining with their shouts of excitement.

  


It was so warm, so full of passion, that Jaime couldn’t help the way his breath caught in his throat as his eyes stayed locked on her.

  


He loved her, and that was a fact he could feel in his very core.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! Sorry for the delay in posting! I might not be able to stick to the "Every Wednesday" thing- but I'm going to aim to once a week still!

Jon watched as his words sunk in, exactly what he was requesting hitting the Wildlings he spoke too. It was quite the jump, from letting them through the wall, to asking them to risk their lives in a fight that wasn’t theirs. He _hated_ having to ask.

 

Sansa, however, was right. They needed Winterfell if they were going to secure the North. And without the North, what chance did they have against the Whitewalkers? If he could get the Boltons out of his family home, he could then focus on properly manning the wall, on making sure that the Walkers had nowhere to come through.

 

They were too vulnerable right now.

 

Dim Dalba had his eyes on Jon, considering for a short moment before shaking his head. “We said we’d fight with you, King Crow, when the time comes and we meant it, but this isn’t what we agreed to.” There was a murmur of agreement, and Jon’s jaw flexed. “These aren’t White Walkers. This isn’t an army of the dead. This isn’t our fight.”

 

Tormund spoke before Jon could, and he couldn’t help but look over at him fondly. The man was so willing to speak for him, so _loyal_. “If it weren’t for him, none of us would be here. All of you would be meat in the Night King’s army. And I’d be a pile of charred bones just like Mance.” he argued, his voice gruff, those piercing eyes of his focused on Dim.

 

Dim wasn’t having any of it. “Remember Mance’s camp?” He asked, his frown deepening. “It stretched all the way to the horizon. And look at us now. Look what’s left of us-” Moving his arm to the side, he gestured at the camp behind him. So few, compared to what they had had. “And if we lose this, we’re gone. Dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never there at all. We’ll be the last of the free folk.”

 

“That’s what’ll happen to you if we lose,” Jon said, cutting in before Tormund could continue speaking. “The Boltons, the Karstarks, the Umbers- they all know you’re here. They know that more than half of you are women and children. After they finish with me, they’ll come for you.”

 

Dim swallowed, and Jon took the chance to press the subject. “You’re right- this isn’t your fight. You shouldn’t have to come to Winterfell with me. I shouldn’t be asking you to. It’s not the deal we made.” Jon shook his head some, his hair tickling at the sides of his neck. “I need you with me if I’m going to beat them and we _need_ to beat them if you’re going to survive.”

 

Nodding, Tormund took a step forward, motioning to Jon with one large hand as he spoke. “The Crows _killed_ him, because he spoke for the Free Folk when no other Southerners would.” he said firmly. “He _died_ for _us_.”

 

“If we’re not willing to do the same for him, then we’re cowards.” Tormund’s jaw flexed before continuing. “And if that’s what we are- we deserve to be the last of the Free Folk.”

 

Wun Wun had been quiet up until this point, and Jon could feel the way the ground shook as he stood, taking a step forward. “Snow.” The word was simple, his intent clear.

 

Jon gave him a grateful smile, nodding once to him, before turning his gaze back to Dim. He wouldn’t beg, that wasn’t the sort of man he wanted to be, but if he had to- The word ‘ _please’_ was at the tip of his tongue when the others nodded. Dim moved forward, offering his hand to Jon, and the relief Jon felt almost made his shoulders sag.

 

Gripping his forearm tightly, he watched Dim’s expression, before letting go, letting them walk away.

 

“Are you sure they’ll come?” he asked Tormund, turning away, starting to trek back to Castle Black.

 

Tormund almost looked offended by the question, one red brow arching. “We’re not Southerners. When we say we’ll do something, we do it,” he told him, before reaching out, clapping his hand over Jon’s shoulder, tightening in the furs that covered him.

 

Jon leaned into the hand for the briefest of moments, before continuing onward, the snow crunching under his feet. Watching the horizon as they walked, he let himself fall into thought, his jaw tight enough to hurt.

 

Even with the Wildlings, he didn’t have enough people. He wasn’t honestly sure they could do this.

 

Sansa was being insistent. They _had_ to get Winterfell back. He knew that she was right, but-

 

The battle ahead of them felt impossible.

 

Dropping his furs over the back of a chair, Jon sighed, the fires in his room stoked up as high as he could manage right now. He had been bundling up more than normal since… he shook that thought out of his mind, not willing to entertain it.

 

He had no time, and no _wish_ to dwell on what had happened to him. The nothing he had felt.

 

He was alive now, and that was all that mattered.

 

Running his fingers over the new leather vest that he’d had made, he sighed some, his lip curling a bit. He knew the leather worker had been confused by his request, but he didn’t want to take his chances without the thing.

 

Taking it off was always a relief in a physical sense, though emotionally, he wished he could _live_ in the thing forever. He’d tried that once, when Ned had first bought him a leather vest, it had made his ribs ache for a week. He couldn’t afford that if he was going to be fighting like he did.

 

Sitting down on the edge of his bed to remove his boots, Jon made a face at the soreness in his chest, one hand coming up to rub at the muscle right below his collarbone, hissing a bit. His fingers brushed over the deep scar over his heart. The new skin there was still tender, and he looked down, his breath catching at the sight of it.

 

He had _died_.

 

It still didn’t truly feel _real_ to him. That he was back.

 

He could still feel the knifes cutting into him, the dull pain, and then the burning heat. It was the oddest thing to him. The pain felt like white-hot metal cutting into him, but after that had faded, it had been so _cold_.

 

Like he was freezing into one of _them_.

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jon gripped the edges of the mattress beneath him, forcing his mind away from the matter entirely.

 

He didn’t have the time nor energy for this right now.

 

Jon Snow was alive, and he had a fight he needed to be ready for. That was all that mattered in this moment. Nothing else.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no update!
> 
> Sorry for the wait, guys! I can't promise it won't happen again, though. We had a serious of misfortunes and emergencies, and I've been swamped with art commissions for a few months, to try and avoid homelessness. We're situated financially now, so hopefully I can pump out some more chapters more regularly.
> 
> As always, if you liked it, comment! It helps motivate me, and honestly, this chapter exists because of the sweet comments I've received in the past two weeks that drew me back here!

“This peace won’t last.”

  


Tyrion looked to his father, swirling the wine in his glass and lifting a brow. “It doesn’t have to last forever. It just needs to last until Daenerys returns.” He said, frowning a touch. “You don’t believe it will?”

  


Tywin raised his own brows, marking his place in his book with a finger, sitting in a chair near the window of Tyrion’s suite.

  


It was an odd arrangement, having his father just… spending time in his presence. They’d barely talked his entire life, and here the man was, wearing a loose linen shirt and sitting by the breeze of his window, reading. As if there was no reason for him to _not_ be there. It had Tyrion thoroughly off balance.

  


Silence stretched between them for a moment, before Tyrion sighed, Tywin’s silence egging at him. “Alright, yes, I’m aware. It won’t last. I’ve bought the city days, maybe hours.” he conceded, and Tywin hummed, tilting his chin up.

  


“They’re slavers. They want their property back, and they know that if the Queen returns, they won’t get it. They’ll attack before then. When we think we’re safe.”

  


Tyrion made a frustrated noise, and he moved to the balcony, looking out over the city, his jaw clenching hard as he did. Putting his hands against the stone railing, he sighed a touch. “I know that. I’ve _known_ that. What I don’t know is how we’ll keep the city, if she doesn’t come back _soon_.”

  


Tywin hummed, sighing a touch and closing his book, setting it aside. “You’ve been putting on a brave face for Missandei and Grey Worm,” he said, watching his son. “But I won’t frighten. Think out loud, Tyrion. We’re on the same side of this fight.”

  


“For once.” Tyrion spat, before clenching his jaw, eyes narrowing as he watched the waters of the bay. “We would have to simply wait them out, as best we could. We have no fleet, we can’t sail or swim into the bay- which is certainly where they’ll come from. They know they won’t win a fight against the Unsullied on the ground. Certainly not outside the walls. It’s all desert, we’d see them coming from miles away.”

  


Tywin nodded his approval of that. “They’ll most likely bring siege equipment. Catapults. We won’t be able to hold the docks, not even the lower city.”

  


“I hate having to just… sacrifice the people there.” Tyrion admitted. “If we had a fleet, _any_ sort of ships, this would be remarkably easier.”

  


“We have two dragons.” Tywin pointed out.

  


“And no Targaryens.” Tyrion countered. “No one they’ll listen to. The best we can hope is that they go and get Daenerys for us, but there’s no promise of that either.”

  


Tywin hummed, tapping his fingers against his knee. “We hold the pyramid, then. It’s the most defensible place we can. Take in as many people as we can before we need to close the doors. What are our stores like here?”

  


“We could last perhaps five, six months if we take in as much of the city as we can.” he said with a frown. “There’s no promise they won’t get into the pyramid before then, though. Our best option is Daenerys.”

  


Tywin nodded some. “You say that, as if she’ll return with an army.”

  


“She’ll return with a dragon. A big one. And once she’s back, we’ll have the other two dragons, _and_ Jaime. We’ll win.”

  


Rubbing his fingers together, Tywin thought that over, before hesitating a moment, and speaking. “I’m glad he helped you.”

  


He couldn’t have possibly heard that right. Turning, Tyrion studied his father, looking baffled. “What about your pardon and excellent scheming?”

  


Tywin stood, coming to join him on the balcony, the wind catching the wide sleeves of his shirt, making the fabric move. Tyrion couldn’t help but stare at him. There was something so _different_ about him here, so far away from Westeros. His father had always stood tall, like he owned the world, but Tyrion had never realized how much _weight_ he must have been bearing on his shoulders. The responsibility of it all that had aged him beyond his years, had kept tension in his jaw.

  


Now, it was almost as if, against all odds, Tywin Lannister was _relaxed_.

  


The sun was setting now, the oranges and red catching in his father’s grey hair, casting a warm glow over him, bringing out the blonde hues that were still there, and he couldn’t help but realize just how _handsome_ the man was.

  


Swallowing thickly, Tyrion tore his gaze away, letting Tywin take time to gather his thoughts into perfectly constructed words, trying not to let his heart race as he wondered what he was thinking.

  


“There is a poison in Westeros.” he said finally. “For years now, decades, the Kingdom has been sliding deep into debt. Lords and Ladies have been content to do nothing, Robert encouraged a lax attitude. The belief that the Crown was infinitely wealthy, that they could spend frivolously and forever. His children learned that lesson and believed it as well. Before that, was fear and neglect because of Aerys. The worry that they wouldn't last the next week, let alone need to plan for the crisis of the next decade. Winter is approaching, and I can’t think of a single Lord or Lady that has even _thought_ to prepare for it.”

  


“The Starks and theirs?” Tyrion suggested.

  


“Perhaps. Before the war. Now? I have a feeling their grain rations went to Robb and his men.”

  


Tyrion winced at that, and nodded. He was right. “That doesn’t explain why you’re happy that Jaime freed me.”

  


Tywin looked to him. “Doesn’t it?” he asked. “We are here, in Essos, in service to a Queen who’s first priority has been _slaves_ and their needs. If she sits on the throne in Westeros, neglect and frivolity won’t be nearly as concerning as they are now. She’ll ensure the Kingdom is strong from its roots up. And with a strong, thriving foundation, I can believe that my children, and theirs, will not only survive, but prosper.”

  


Thinking that over for a long moment, Tywin spoke up. “That’s why, then? You’re happy for my connections? That I have the ear of a good queen?”

  


It hurt, but it made sense. Tyrion had strong ties now, if Daenerys won, if she conquered the West, he was the man to be friends with.

  


“I am pleased with that, yes. But you’ve misunderstood my point.” he said, turning and looking to him. “You aren’t just alive, Tyrion. You are alive, and _thriving_. You have a queen that listens to and trusts you, and a prince that loves you. When we win the West, you’ll never have to fear for your life again. I couldn’t give you that. No pardon, no whispered word in Tommen’s ear would have ever made you safe.”

  


Tyrion couldn’t breathe for a long moment, holding his father’s gaze, the golden light washing over the both of them as he tried to remember how lungs worked.

  


Swallowing thickly, he blinked rapidly, his lashes heavy and wet as he finally broke eye contact, turning back to look at the waters below them, giving a short nod.

  


Tywin reached out, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, before heading back into the room, picking up his book and settling back into his chair, reaching up to loosen the laces of his binding vest some.

  


Turning to study him, Tyrion lifted a hand, fingers on the spot that his father had, his shoulder still warm from the touch.


	37. Chapter 37

The pounding of the stones against the Pyramid were going to make Tyrion’s heart leap out of his chest. It hadn’t happened yet, but the way he jumped every time was only solidifying his belief that it was inevitable.

  


Tensing as another hit the heavy stones, he made a face, before looking to Grey Worm. “I was wrong. I admit it.” he said.

  


“That changes nothing,” Missandei said, frowning as she moved into the room with him, seeing Tywin beside Grey Worm, discussing their plans with matching seriousness, postures tense.

  


“What are our plans?” Tyrion asked, his jaw clenching.

  


Tywin looked up to him, before sighing some and looking to Grey Worm. “We hold here.” Grey Worm said with a frown. “It’s the only place we can hold. We stay here.”

  


“And then?” Tyrion asked, looking to his father.

  


“We wait.” Tywin said. “We do as we discussed. We hold the Pyramid as long as we can. If we fall, we make them work for it.”

  


Grey Worm nodded sharply at that. “We wait for them. And then we fight them. And we kill as many as we can.”

  


Missandei took a sharp breath, her throat tight, fighting hard to keep the fear from her gaze as she looked between them all. Their options were looking bleak, and while she was prepared to die, it wasn’t a pleasant thought.

  


Another stone hit, and Tyrion jerked again, only to pause. There was the sound of pebbles skittering, something grinding into the stone. It was a far different sound than anything he’d heard before. Missandei stepped forward as she saw the guards moving to the balcony, grabbing a knife and coming to step beside Tyrion, stepping in front of him, her intent to protect him clear.

  


Tyrion would be warmed if he wasn’t utterly terrified.

  


Drawing his sword, Tywin moved to stand with Grey worm, poised and ready to defend, only for his eyes to go wide, seeing the guards kneeling and understanding immediately what had happened. He moved to one knee as Daenerys strode into the room, her hair windswept, eyes scanning their faces, before falling on Tyrion.

  


“Explain.” she demanded.

  


Tyrion cleared his throat. “Ah- well… it would appear we’re under siege, your Grace.”

  


\----

  


Daenerys could feel her blood boiling in her veins as she stared at the ships from the balcony. The silence in the room could only be described as tense, the sound of the siege like the pounding of a drum- concussive, repetitive and steady, though without a true rhythm.

  


Anxious to break the silence, Tyrion moved forward, his arms opening some. “Despite appearances, I think you’ll find that the city is on the rise.”

  


A loud explosion rocked the pyramid, making Tyrion wince hard, and he watched Daenerys nervously. Jaime was certainly offering no help, standing at the makeshift war table and studying the positioning of the ships, fingers trailing along the edge of the docks.

  


“The city is on the rise?” Daenerys asked, her brow lifted a bit, before looking to Jaime, who motioned her attention back to Tyrion.

  


“Mereen is strong. Commerce has returned to the markets. The people are behind you.” He was cut off by the sound of another stone striking the walls, swallowing hard and correcting. “Well, not all the people.”

  


He set his glass down, moving forward, keeping eye contact with her. “No ruler that ever lived had the support of all the people. But the rebirth of Mereen is the cause of this violence. The Masters cannot let Mereen succeed.” he explained. “Because- if Mereen succeeds, it proves that-”

  


He broke off for another deafening crack, the sound of bricks tumbling free down the wall outside the balcony. “It proves that no one needs a Master.”

  


Studying his face, Daenerys was quite for a moment, standing strong despite the sounds of chaos beneath them.

  


“Good. Shall we begin?” She asked, striding past him and into the room, looking around.

  


Tyrion blinked. “Do we have a plan?” he asked, brow furrowing a bit.

  


“I will crucify the Masters, kill every last one of their soldiers, and return their cities to the dust.” she said, her voice hard, an anger ebbing into her tone.

  


That got Jaime’s attention, one of the ships markers clattering as his hand jerked, knocking it askew.

  


Daenerys paused, before looking to Tyrion who was clenching his jaw, looking down at the floor by his brother’s feet. “You don’t approve?”

  


Tyrion and Jaime met gazes, before Tyrion spoke, turning his back to the man, knowing what he was about to bring up would hurt him. It was, however, an important lesson for Daenerys. “You once told me you knew what your father was.” he said, and her shoulders stiffened, chin raising the slightest bit as she let him continue. “Did you know what his plans for King’s Landing, once the Lannister armies were at his gates?”

  


Daenerys opened her mouth to reply, only to be drowned out by yet another explosion, hand tightening on her glass, as she decided it best to let Tyrion continue.

  


“Probably not. Well, he told my brother, and Jaime told me.” he said.

  


Jaime swallowed hard, and he clenched his fist against the table, speaking up. “He had wildfire.” he said. “Caches, entire kegs of it. Stashed under the Red Keep. The Sept. Under the alleys of the lower city, and the sewers of the Noble’s mansions.”

  


Feeling her stomach twist, Daenerys set her glass down slowly, looking between the both of them.

  


“He was going to burn them. All the armies, the people- I killed him, to stop him. He was… he was standing there, with his pyromancer, screaming to burn them all. He kept saying it, over and over, and laughing while he said it.”

  


Tyrion reached out, his hand touching Jaime’s arm, making him jump, before relaxing, pressing into the touch, seeking his comfort as he closed his eyes, shaking his head and looking away.

  


“This is entirely different.” Daenerys defended quickly, her heart racing, throat tight as she watched Jaime. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. Them, or herself.

  


Tyrion shook his head. “It’s not different. You’re speaking of burning entire cities.” he scolded. “Let me suggest a different approach.”


	38. Chapter 38

“You don’t have to be here.”

  


Jon can feel the rage rolling of Sansa, the pain hiding just under her skin, ready to be released, the strength that kept it all hidden behind a carefully neutral expression. She was different from the young girl he remembered, and it pained him to know why. What he wouldn’t give to have spared her the last few years.

  


Sansa glanced to him out of the corner of her eyes, her gloved hands tightening on the reins of her mount. “Yes.” she said, her voice tight. “I do.”

  


Their gazes returned to the front as Ramsey’s men came up to them, the bastard grinning wide as he saw Sansa. “My beloved wife.” he greeted, and Jon felt his skin crawl at the way he looked her over. “I’ve missed you _terribly_.”

  


Jon was proud of Sansa when she kept her gaze level, her jaw clenching and her fists flexing. He wasn’t sure he could be as strong as her, had something similar ever happened to him. He certainly wasn’t sure he could keep a level head, staring the man down.

  


Ramsay took a breath, humming a bit as he turned his gaze back to Jon, smile almost jovial. “Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely. Now- dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” Ramsay demanded, tilting his head a bit. “I will pardon you for deserting the Night’s Watch, and I will pardon these treasonous Lords for betraying my house.”

  


When Jon didn’t make a move, didn’t speak, Ramsey shifted, his horse showing his nerves as he pawed at the mud and snow.

  


“Come now, Bastard. You don’t have the men, you don’t have the horses, and you don’t have Winterfell. Why lead these poor souls to slaughter? There’s no need for battle.”

  


Jon wanted to punch him. To make him shut up.

  


“Get off your horse and kneel. I’m a man of mercy.”

  


Like fuck, he was.

  


“You’re right.” Jon said, and he felt eyes on him as he spoke. “There’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men don’t have to die. Only one of us.” He saw the moment Ramsay understood what he was saying, the way the man clenched his jaw and his horse shuffled uneasily. “Let’s end this the old way. You against me.”

  


Collecting himself, Ramsay chuckled, the sound not as convincing as Jon was sure he would have liked. “I’ve heard stories about you, Bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked.”

  


_Certainly better than you, at least-_ Jon thought viciously.

  


“Maybe you are that good. Maybe not.” Ramsay continued. “I don’t know if I’d beat you. But what I do know, is that my army will beat yours. I have six thousand men. You have what? Half that? Not even?”

  


Jon’s hand tensed on his saddle horn and he gave a curt nod. “Aye. You have the numbers. Will your men fight for you, when they hear you wouldn’t fight for them?”

  


Ramsay stiffened, his jaw flexing and his gaze flickered back to the men behind him. Focusing on Jon once more, he pointed at him, wagging the finger a bit. “He’s good,” he said, half aiming the comment at Sansa. “Very good.”

  


“Tell me- will you let your little brother die, because you’re too proud to surrender?”

  


Jon’s hands clenched at that, his lip curling.

  


“How do we know you have him?” Sansa asked, giving Jon a moment to collect himself. He needed it, honestly. His blood ran hot, even for a Northern man. His father had always scolded his temper.

  


He needed to breathe, let the cold air bite at his throat and lungs, and exhale out that heat. If he was going to survive this battle, he _had_ to keep his head, even now.

  


Ramsay smirked at Sansa, twisting a bit and nodding to Smalljon, the man moving forward and holding up a burlap bag. Reaching a hand in, he gripped something, pulling the head of a dire wolf out, throwing it to the ground between them with a dull thud.  
  
Jon and Sansa looked at it, bile rising in the back of Jon’s throat.  
  
Shaggydog.

  


Ramsay looked so _pleased_ with himself. “Now- if you want to save-”

  


Sansa cut in, her voice level, watching Ramsay with a fire in her eyes that nearly matched her hair. “You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well.”

  


Pulling her reins up, she turned her horse, trotting off at an easy pace, silence left in her wake.

  


Jon didn’t look back to watch her go, keeping his eyes on Ramsay and his men instead.

  


“She’s a fine woman, your sister. I look forward to having her back in my bed.” Ramsay said, and Jon’s hands flexed, the leather of his gloves creaking.

  


He was going to beat his face in the first chance he got.

  


“And you’re all fine-looking men. My dogs are desperate to meet you. I haven’t fed them for seven days. They’re ravenous. I wonder which parts they’ll try first. Your eyes? Your balls? We’ll find out soon enough.” Ramsay continued, a laugh to his words, before shaking his head some, gathering his reins in his hand. “In the morning, then, bastard.”

  


_In the morning, I’m going to kill you._

  


That thought was all he allowed himself, before he turned, nodding to his men, headed back to camp.

  


They needed to continue planning.


	39. Chapter 39

It was a war drum, the stones thudding against the city in the background.

  


The rise they stood on was far enough away from the hits, that it could almost be ignored, a distant sound. A distant problem.

  


Daenerys could feel fury in her veins as she stared at the men across from her, their brightly dyed silks catching the morning light.

  


They were just men.

  


Weak and rich, plump off decadent foods, and haughty with their riches. As if they were better than her.

  


She had thought herself tired of men like that already- this situation was just proving there was yet further depths of exhaustion and disgust to be found.

  


“Once before, I offered you peace.” The words brought her back to the moment, looking Razdal in the eye, watching the amusement in his gaze. “If you had not been so arrogant, you could have returned to your homeland with a fleet of ships. Instead, you will flee Slaver’s Bay on foot, like the Beggar Queen you are.”

  


Was that what they called her then? She almost laughed, the chuckle dying in her throat.

  


Tyrion spoke for her, his voice level and smooth. It was something she admired, how he could keep the anger from his voice at a time like this, sound rational and understanding. Empathetic even.

  


She’d learned to hide anger behind a tone of amusement, of cold humor, as if nothing could touch her.

  


She had never managed indifference.

  


“We are here to discuss terms of surrender, not to trade insults.” Tyrion all but scolded, looking up to Daenerys before returning his eyes to the Masters. She could see Tywin’s confident look from his place just behind his son, and not for the first time, she wondered if he ever let Tyrion see that slight spark of pride in his eyes.

  


One of the men twirled one of the many rings on his fingers as he spoke, his arms crossed over his chest confidently.

  


What was his name? Yezzan?

  


“The terms are simple. You and your foreign friends will abandon the Great Pyramid and the city of Meereen. The Unsullied you _stole_ from Kraznys mo Nakloz will remain to be sold again to the highest bidder. The translator you _stole_ from Kraznys mo Nakloz will remain to be sold again to the highest bidder. The dragons beneath the Great Pyramid will be slaughtered.”

  


Was that so?

  


Had these men ever _seen_ a dragon? Had they any clue who stood before them? She _was_ a dragon, and they would learn to think of her as such.

  


The time, the chuckle almost did escape, her brows lifting a touch in amusement, smirk barely kept from her lips. “We obviously didn’t communicate clearly.” Her chin tilted up a touch, and she studied their faces. “We’re here to discuss your surrender, not mine.”

  


Razdal shook his head the slightest bit. “I imagine it must be difficult-” he started. “Adjusting to the new reality. Your reign is over.”

  


Daenerys’s purple eyes moved to look over his shoulder, watching Drogon circle out from behind the Great Pyramid, dipping low before surging into the air, a distant cry catching everyone’s attention.

  


Her beloved son was there quickly, crossing the distance of the city in a few powerful pumps of his wings, purposely grazing over the heads of the slaves guarding the Masters, the wind making them stumble.

  


As he moved to the ruins behind her, she smiled, seeing the fear entering their faces, the way the Masters were already stepping back behind their slaves.

  


Tiny, cowardly men.

  


“My reign has just begun.” Daenerys said, that smile finally reaching her lips.

  


Drogon’s roar split the air as he leaned forward. Daenerys motioned with one hand, and he surged forward, the ground shaking as he landed just behind her, arms stretching forward to encircle his mother, growling as he fixed the men with his fiery gaze.

  


Turning, she put her hands to the warm scales, feeling the fire underneath her palms as she stepped up. It was still a learning experience, having only ridden Drogon a few times before, but she was sure with practice climbing up to her perch would become more graceful.

  


Drogon rushed forward, knocking the guards aside as they jumped to clear the path, the wind already catching her hair as he leapt off the edge of the cliff.

  


In seconds they were airborn, and Daenerys turned for only a moment, looking at the expression on Tywin’s face, wondering exactly how one would describe it. He seemed awed, if someone could manage to look completely calm and collected whilst being so.

  


Turning her gaze downward as they banked in the air, she heard the answering calls of Visarion and Rhaegal, smiling some as she watched the walls crumble before them. They tracked her and Drogon’s flight through the air, calling to her, and she knew in her very bones that they had forgiven her for locking them away.

  


Looking forward as they joined her, she gripped the spines on Drogon’s back, leading him towards the ships in the bay.

  


They had work to do.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for you, anonymous commenter hr. Unfortunately for you, I haven’t abandoned this story, and I have three full chapters written up and being beta’d.
> 
> Also, sorry for the lack of updates, my friends. My laptop is currently out for repairs, so this is being typed on a phone. It’s not pleasant, but hey. Once it’s back, I’ll finish editing the next chapter and post it!
> 
> Have some smut to tide you over during the wait. <3

There was a sense of victory amongst the people, smoke still riding from the remains of the ships in the bay as Jaime stood on the balcony, looking down at the water.

 

They had pushed back the Old Masters, saved the city and countless people from returning to slavery, but wasn’t what Jaime was thinking of. Instead his mind wandered to the way she had looked, holding onto Drogon’s spines, leaning forward over his neck, silver hair whipping around her in the wind as they moved together- it had been something breathtaking, a moment of beauty and fierce, violent perfection.

  
Looking down, he examined the silver circlet in his hand, thumb rubbing along the engraved geometric pattern along the metal, studying the way the light caught along the grooves and hammered edges.  
  


A knock at the door drew his attention away, and Jaime turned, calling out. “The door’s unlocked.”

 

Daenerys entered, her hair put back to rights, no longer as windswept as it was, and she gave Jaime a slight smile, looking him over. “Enjoying the view?” She asked, the door closing behind her with a soft click of the latch.

 

Jaime chuckled some, before nodding. “I like what you’ve done with the harbor. The smoking ship wrecks truly add something to the scenary.”

 

She gave him a tight lipped smile, amusement dancing in her eyes. Holding out a hand to call him over, Daenerys tracked his movements, seeing him drop the circlet to the desk, before taking her hand in his own, lifting it to kiss her fingers gently. “Are you thinking about home?” She asked, moving a touch closer as he tugged her hand, feeling the heavy metal of his golden hand at the small of her back. “We’ll be sailing sooner than I expected- tell me I’m not the only one nervous?”

 

”You’re not the only one nervous, believe me.” Jaime shook his head the slightest bit, his hand coming up to gently brush a stray lock of her hair from her face, fingertips trailing along the curve of her cheek lightly. “I think Tyrion might be the most scared of all of us. He’s putting on a strong front but he locked himself in his room rather quickly.”

 

Daenerys nodded at that, giving a soft hum. “He has every right to be.”

 

”Oh, I know. I’m not faulting him for it in the slightest.”

 

Sighing some, Daenerys closed the distance between them fully, resting her head against his chest, her eyes closing a touch as she soaked in his warmth, the instant, protective way his arms wrapped around her shoulders, fingers tangled in her hair.

 

”Do you worry? About facing your sister?” She asked softly.

 

Jaime swallowed hard, his throat tight, like the worry he was trying to dispell had caught just behind his adam’s apple instead.

 

”Every day.”

 

Daenerys looked up at him, frowning a touch, and he shook his head, not wanting to speak on it more, not wanting to explain that he knew Cersei would kill Daenerys just as fast as look at her, and feel no remorse for it.

 

Instead, he leaned in, taking comfort in the softness of Daenerys’s lips against his own, in the sweet way she sighed as his arms tightened around her waist, keeping her flush against his body.

 

It was easy, getting lost in her, already turning with her to lead her to the bed, the fabric of her dress whispering as she moved, her hands coming up to cling to his biceps. “Jaime-“ she murmured and his grip shifted, his hand sliding to her hips, finding the ties that held her dress closed and tugging at them aimlessly until he managed to undo them.

 

The mattress groaned some under them as they fell onto it, their kisses already becoming more passionate, Daenerys scraping her teeth over Jaime’s bottom lip, urging him to open to her, so she could taste his mouth properly. He groaned in response, knees nudging her legs apart, not bothering to fully undress either of them as he moved over her, supporting himself on his forearm.

 

Sucking at her tongue a moment, Jaime rocked his hips against hers, his hand gripping her thigh as the fabric of her skirt bunched up around her hips, the friction making heat run through his veins. 

 

“Jaime, please-“ Daenerys gasped out, her hands tugging along his jacket, at the wrong angle to be able to undo the lacing hiding his body from her, wanting to run her hands over his chest and her nails along his back.

 

Knowing he needed his clothing off to love her the way she deserved was the only thing that was able to make him part from her kisses, straightening as he knelt between her thighs, tugging his jacket open with a few impatient tugs, before shrugging the leather off. His linen undershirt was quickly discarded as well, and Daenerys wasted no time as she reached down, pulling the lacing of his pants open, tugging them off his hips eagerly.

 

Jaime chuckled at the way she tugged his hips towards her, and he moved forward, his pants still half around his thighs as he hiked her skirt up and out of the way fully, fingers trailing along the inside of her leg until he found her wet heat.

 

She gave a soft gasp as his thumb parted her folds, teasing at the wetness he found there a moment, until the pad of his thumb found her clit, rubbing in firm, small circles around it, making her hips cant down against his hand eagerly. Letting her head fall back against the pillows under her, Daenerys thread her fingers into Jaime’s short hair, gripping lightly as he kissed along her neck, her collarbone, down her chest, until he found a nipple, exposed by her undone dress.

 

His teeth scraped over the sensitive peak lightly, before he sucked it into his mouth, tongue nudging against it. Daenerys’s eyes fluttered, the loving attention to her body drawing a soft moan from her, and she bit her bottom lip, pressing her hips up, trying to find more friction, more contact with her lover’s body.

 

Eagerly obliging her, Jaime shifted, keeping his thumb pressed tight against her clit as he nudged her lips apart, dipping his middle finger into her deep. “Daenerys-“ he breathed out against her chest, trailing kisses over her heart as he started to thrust his finger, wanting to bring her pleasure, to hear her moaning for him.

 

He could feel her slicking for him even more as he started to kiss lower, and she gave a whine, tugging at his hair instead. “Kiss me,” she demanded breathlessly, rolling her hips down to meet his fingers, “I don’t want to wait to feel you.”

 

Jaime chuckled some at that, and he shifted, pressing a second finger into her, knowing it would only make her more impatient, but he leaned up as requested, lips finding hers once more. “You rather-“ he murmured between hungry kisses, “-enjoyed my mouth the last time.”

 

Daenerys smiled into the kiss and she moved her legs around his hips, tugging him closer, making it clear what she wanted. “And I’ll enjoy it again later, but I need you now.”

 

Jaime gave a few more thrusts of his fingers, making sure she was wet, that she’d feel no discomfort, and he nipped at her bottom lip. “Your wish, sister.” He teased.

 

Drawing his fingers from her, he used the wetness on his hand to stroke himself a few short times, makin sure the head of his cock was wet with her fluids before lining up against her. She whined as he rubbed his cock along her folds, pressing firmly against her clit a moment, before moving back down and sliding into her.

 

Her legs tightened around his waist, trying to draw him in fully, but Jaime held fast, moving slowly as he could, making her whine in need as she tried to rock her hips down instead. It took far too long, in her opinion, for him to finally seat inside her fully, and she gave a bit of a huff, locking her ankles behind him. “Jaime-  _move_!” She begged.

 

Jaime smirked some, and he kissed against her neck, teasing her with short, shallow thrusts, enjoying the way she squirmed under him, before he pulled back, almost falling out of her, the head of his cock barely between her folds. “Jaime-“ she started, her tone scolding, only to cut off with a loud cry as he speared into her. Her back arched off the mattress, nails dragging down the back of his neck to his shoulders, gripping tight as he started to thrust into her earnestly, hitting deep and hard each time, stealing her breath away from her.

 

Heat was already building in her stomach, each thrust stoking it more, and she could feel her breath already coming in pants as Jaime sucked at the crook of her neck. “You’re so beautiful,“ he murmured, his hips moving faster, the hand on her thigh gripping hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints. “The way you moan for me, Daenerys-“

 

The increasing pace was driving Daenerys wild, and she rocked her hips eagerly, meeting each thrust, the sound of their skin hitting against one another almost lost under their breathless pants as she clenched around him. So close- she was so close- “Please,” she choked out, a hand tugging at his hair absently in her need.

 

Jaime smiled, and he shifted, hiking her leg over his shoulder and bracing himself above her on his forearm, the new position feeling like it was driving him deeper as he slid a thigh over hers, pinning her hips to the mattress and spreading her open for him.

 

Reaching between them, Jaime’s fingers found that sensitive peak once more, pinching over it lightly and drawing the hood of her clit back, so he could rub at her without anything dulling the touches, thumb working in fast circles as he fucked her.

 

Daenerys reached above her to grip at the pillows beneath her as she moaned, each breath a sound of pleasure as she climbed closer and closer to her peak. “Jaime, Jaime I’m close, please-“ she gasped, tilting her chin back, showing off the marks Jaime had left along her neck.

 

”I’m close too-“ Jaime groaned, and she whimpered, nodding some. Snapping his hips into her hard, his thumb pressed tight to her clit, he pulled her hips into the thrust, making her cry out loudly, able to feel it as she came, her walls tightening around him in pulses as she arched. He didn’t stop, fucking her through it, her thighs shaking around him as he kept rubbing at her, oversensativity drawing moan after moan from her.

 

Her nails dragged down over his arms roughly, and Jaime moaned, barely managing to stave off his own orgasm as he watched her, seeing the blissed look on her face, the flush high on her cheekbones as he continued rubbing at her, thrusting deep inside her.

 

When she cried out again, the sound sharp, echoing around the room as a second orgasm hit her, making her entire body shuddering against her, Jaime finally gave him, thrusting into her as deep as he could, coming in hot, heavy pulses, his balls tightening enough to ache.

 

Jaime panted, shifting to finally let her leg down off his shoulder, the effort of the pace he’d kept up hitting him, as if all at once. Kissing lazily along her jawline until he found her lips, he gave a pleased hum.

 

Daenerys smiled into the kiss eagerly, her arms coming to loosely wrap around his shoulders, playing with his hair gently.

 

”I love you,” he said,  his lips brushing along hers as he spoke, and Daenerys looked up at him, her eyes studying his face a moment, as if unsure what to think about it.

 

”I know.” She said finally, her hand coming to cup his cheek, thumb brushing along his cheekbone softly.


End file.
